


I Like Your Friends

by Wordweaver



Series: A Wild Combination [3]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Complete, Developing Relationship, Homophobia, Kendo, M/M, Nakamaship, ZoSan - Freeform, sanzo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 48,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6497164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordweaver/pseuds/Wordweaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I think you're funny<br/>I like your friends<br/>I like the way they treat you<br/>-	Joyce Manor</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You'll Never Be The Same

 

 

* * *

 

 

_They're anything but easy_   
_They're anything but sane_   
_But once they're in your life_   
_You'll never be the same_

_\- Paloma Faith_

 

* * *

 

 

 

"One Caesar salad, one French onion soup, one smoked salmon platter, one veal sweetbreads, table six.” The shout rang through the already considerable din of the busy kitchen. “And table five have asked where their filet mignon is!”

“Tell table five their fucking filet is on its way,” Sanji responded, not looking up from his station. “And while you’re at it, tell them patience is a virtue.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” The waiter who’d delivered the news grinned as he turned to go.

“Just open another bottle of wine for them.” Sanji scowled as he bent over the quail and wild rice he was plating up.

 

 

A moment later, he felt someone step close beside him. “Alright, it’ll be ready when it’s fucking ready,” he said between gritted teeth.

“Are you on top of things, Sanji?” Martine’s steely tones sounded close by his ear. Sanji almost dropped the ladle of sauce he was using. “Yes, chef.”

“I hope so. We’re under a lot of pressure today, being short-handed.”

“Yes, chef.” _Tell me something I don’t fucking know._

“When you’ve finished that, I want you to take over from Antoine on grill.”

“Yes, chef.” Sanji finished plating up with a last precise swirl of sauce, gave the two dishes a rapid but expert final look over, then picked them up and placed them on the pass. “Two quail with wild rice, table nine!”

Martine had already moved on, to redirect some other player in the manic dance of an under-staffed kitchen in the midst of a busy lunch service. Sanji took exactly one second to breathe, feeling the sweat sticking his whites to his back, before heading over to the grill.

 

 

“Holy shit, what a week.” A couple of hectic hours later, in the cramped locker room where they shed their working uniform and changed back into street clothes, Antoine sat with his head resting back against the wall. “Why’d that motherfucker Leon pick this week to get sick? When the place is rammed to the gills with that convention arriving?”

“Not the best timing,” Sanji agreed, peeling off his whites.

Eyes shut, Antoine groaned. “My head is still spinning. Every time I turned round, Martine was breathing down my neck. I swear that woman has eyes in the back of her head.”

“It’s her job.” Sanji reached for his shirt. “But, yeah: it was busy as hell in there.”

“Busy? _Busy?_  Shit, Sanji, it was insane. They better bring in someone to cover Leon’s station tomorrow, if he’s still sick. Otherwise you’re gonna be dancing around the kitchen even more than you were today.”

“Without the aid of illegal substances, I’m not sure it’s actually possible for me to move any faster.” Sanji sat down to pull on his shoes.

“Yeah, kudos. I don’t know how you kept from throwing that dish on the floor when those shitheads on table four sent it back for the third time.”

 

 

Sanji pulled on his coat; extracted his cigarettes and lighter, and stood up. “The customer is always right. Don’t you know that?” He gave Antoine an ironic smirk. “We’re here to serve. Ours is a noble calling.”

“Noble, my ass.” Antoine rolled his eyes.

“Keep your heart pure, your knives sharp, and your station clean.” Sanji moved to the door. “And don’t let the shitty customers get to you.”

“Yeah. See y’tomorrow, Sanji.”

“Undoubtedly. Unless I’m moving so fast I’m just a blur.” Sanji lifted a hand in farewell. “Later.”

 

 

 

 

Out on the street the cold clear air revived him a little. He stopped to light his cigarette; pulling in a lungful of smoke, he fished his mobile out of his pocket and checked it for messages. Nami’s name showed in his inbox: he opened the text.

_‘still waiting to hear - how’d it go sunday?? ;)’_

Sanji smiled. Checking the time on his phone – a little after half past three – he typed in a reply.

_‘great :)  :)  :) ’_

Barely twenty seconds later, a second text arrived.

_‘gdi sanji details!!’_

Sanji answered with a question. _‘u free for coffee?’_

_‘java lounge 30 mins c u there’_

_‘ok’_   Sanji slid his phone back into his jacket and started to walk.

 

 

Nami was sitting at a window table when he arrived, her expression impatient. She let herself be kissed on the cheek, returning the kiss efficiently, before fixing him with a determined look. “I can’t believe you made me wait three days before reporting back. I want to hear every sordid detail.”

“Sorry my sweet - work has been crazy, we’re down a chef. Aren’t you having a drink? I’m going to get a coffee.”

“Mocha latte, thanks.” Nami waited until he returned with their drinks and sat down, before leaning halfway across the table with a salacious smile. “So it went okay?”

“Better than okay.” Sanji sipped his Americano and let out a sigh. “Oh wow, caffeine. I needed something after the shift from hell I’ve just worked.”

“Sanji...” Nami poked him hard on the arm, almost spilling his coffee. “Quit stalling and make with the sharing. What did you do?”

 

 

“Well, we had that sparring session, at the gym where he works.” Sanji allowed a slow smile to come onto his face. “Which I won.”

“You beat him?”

“Had him down on the mat. Twice.” Sanji took another sip of his coffee. “Which wasn’t a bad way to start the evening.”

Nami folded her hands together on the table, leaning forwards. “And was there hot shower room action afterwards?”

“As there were other people using the same locker room, no.” Sanji raised one eyebrow.

“How disappointing. So how did you make it up to him, after kicking his ass?”

“I took him for a nice romantic dinner, at Karim’s restaurant.”

“Ooh...” Nami pressed her lips together. “Did you have baklava?”

“I did. He doesn’t like sweet things.”

 

 

This time Nami’s eyebrows raised. “Okay, is that even possible?”

Sanji laughed. “Not everyone can be queen of desserts, my lovely.”

Nami made a dismissive gesture. “Moving on. You had dinner, and then what?”

“Back to my place, for a nightcap. Or at least that was the original plan...”

“Yeah, I bet.” Nami propped her chin on her hands, grinning. “How far into your apartment did the two of you get before taking your clothes off?”

“The bedroom, as it happens.”

“Liar.”

“I swear on my Misono santoku knife.” Sanji raised his hand solemnly. “Unless you count coats and shoes.”

Nami considered for a moment. “Depends. Did he rip them off you?”

“No. Although it was a close thing.”

 

 

They were both silent for a moment, grinning at each other. Then Nami shook her head. “You guys. You are such... _guys.”_

“Grammatically correct, but I’m not entirely clear what you mean by that.”

“You know what I mean. Like, two minutes after you got inside your apartment I’ll bet he was doing you on the floor.”

“I was doing him, actually. And it was on the bed.” Sanji took a sip of his coffee, demurely. “I like my comforts.”

“I stand corrected.” Nami rolled her eyes. “What I meant was, with guys it’s all about getting it on as quick as possible, skip the foreplay. Unless you count the wrestling you did earlier in the evening in the gym.”

“Okay, first of all: that’s a stereotype. Secondly, we didn’t just ‘get it on’ as you so gracefully put it, I do have some finesse. And thirdly, you are absolutely right about the gym being foreplay, I concede that one.”

Nami pointed a finger at him. “Ha! Score.”

“And so was the meal. And holding hands on the street with him afterwards.”

“You held hands? Oh, that’s _sooo_ cute.” Nami crossed her hands over her heart, before giving him a smirk. “He must’ve forgiven you for ploughing him into a gym mat, then.”

“Seemed like it.”

“Did he ‘forgive’ you all night long?”

Sanji smiled, cradling his coffee cup in both hands. “Fun was had.”

“In other words, you totally nailed him.” Nami grinned.

 

 

Sanji looked to the side, almost laughing. “Well... Yeah.” He looked back at her. “I don’t know why you need to know all this.”

“Because I’m your friend and you have to tell me everything, otherwise I will feel neglected and heartbroken.” Nami scooped up some froth from her mocha, sucking it off the teaspoon. “Also, guys having wild sex together are really hot.”

Sanji did laugh this time. “Nami, you have to get a boyfriend of your own.”

“Eh, too high maintenance. I’d rather hear about yours.” Nami tapped him smartly on the knuckles with her spoon to prompt further details. “So you went back to your place and had great sex?”

Sanji gave in. “Yes.” He hesitated, then after a short sigh, added, “And again when we woke up the next morning. And after brunch. Anything else you’d like to know?”

“Did you take any pictures this time?” At his look, Nami shrugged. “Just hoping. So, it sounds like everything’s copacetic in the bedroom.”

“Yeah.” Sanji smiled for real this time.

“Well, good. I’m glad.” Nami smiled too. “Enjoy yourself.”

“I plan to.”

 

 

There was a brief silence. Nami picked up her cup and blew on its contents: took a sip. Sanji considered for a moment; then spoke again. “It’s not just the awesome sex, though.”

Nami’s gaze lifted to him. “Oh?”

“I actually... like him.” Sanji found himself fidgeting with his coffee cup: made himself let go and rest his hands on the table.

“You said that before.” Nami shrugged.

“No, I mean... _really_ like him.” Sanji met her gaze. “A lot.”

Nami looked at him quizzically. “Well, you’ve only known him for two weeks... Isn’t it kind of early for that?”

“I don’t know.” Sanji folded his arms across his chest. “What, is there some kind of rule for how this is meant to work?”

Nami snorted. “You ought to know by know I’m not big on rules. And neither are you, Sanji.” She leaned forward, resting her own folded arms on the table. “Okay, so as well as thinking he’s hot, you really like him. That’s a bonus, isn’t it? Or are you saying it’s a problem?”

“It’s not a problem. I just... I suppose I don’t really know him. Yet. But when we talk, it’s just... really easy. Like he’s just being who he is, and so am I.”

“Well, that sounds like a good thing.” Nami tipped her head a little to one side. “So... What kind of a person is he?” When Sanji hesitated, she rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to give me his measurements, or list his turn-ons. I meant, tell me a bit about him. What’s he like? All I know about him so far is that he works in a gym, has green hair and fights in bars for entertainment.”

 

 

“The New Year’s Eve thing was a one-off. It’s not like he makes a habit of getting into fights.”

“Good. So what kind of things does he do?”

“Well, outside of work... He does kendo.”

“Kendo? Isn’t that that weird martial art where they dress up and sword fight?”

“Yes.”

“Kinky.” Nami got an impish grin on her face. “Now I begin to see the attraction.”

“He’s pretty good at it, I think. He competes, anyway. In fact, I’m going to watch him compete at the weekend, in a tournament.”

“You guys have the weirdest dates.” Nami gave a half-shake of her head. “Okay, he does kendo. What about his social life? You said he lived with a friend, so he has at least one friend, which implies he’s not an axe murderer. How about his family?”

 

 

Once again Sanji ran up against the problem of how much he could reveal, of what Zoro had shared with him. “He hasn’t really got family... There’s an old kendo teacher who he’s close to. They keep in touch.”

“What happened with his family? Did he come out to them and they freaked, or something?”

“No... His folks died when he was a kid. He was brought up by an uncle, but he’s out of the picture too now.”

“Huh... That must’ve been tough.” Nami looked thoughtful.

Sanji shrugged. “He didn’t make a big thing out of it. I asked him and he told me.”

“And did he do the same?” At Sanji’s interrogative look, Nami nodded at him. “Did he want to know about your family, too?”

“Yeah, he asked about Zeff. So I filled him in on our dysfunctional relationship.”

“That’s all you told him?”

“Well, he knows I’m adopted, too. I mentioned that.”

“Mm hm.” Nami regarded him. “Well... So far, so good. Did you also mention the disembowelling thing?”

 

 

Sanji blinked. “Huh?”

“What I said I’d do to him if he ever made you unhappy.” Nami narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“It kind of slipped my mind, what with the wild sex and all.” Sanji gave her a wry smile. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” Nami sat back casually in her chair. “I’ll tell him myself, when we meet. Which better be soon. I want to check this guy out, if you’re serious about really liking him.”

“I really am, and for sure you can meet him. Not this weekend though, I want him all to myself once he’s finished whacking his opponents over the head. Maybe we could meet up for a drink next week sometime.”

“Sounds like a plan: let’s say Saturday night, next week. We could go to Bembé, we haven’t been dancing there in a while.”

“Well, that’d be fun... But I don’t think Zoro’s big into dancing.”

“And he doesn’t like desserts, either? The sex must be _amazing_.” Nami adopted a pleading face. “C’mon, sweetie... _Dancing._ You love to dance. Just a few dances. We can both shake our booties, I can catch the eye of any man-candy in the room, and Zoro can watch you strut your stuff. And in between we can see how much rum we can down between the three of us.”

Sanji laughed. “Okay, you talked me into it. I’ll ask him when I see him this weekend.”

“You know you want to.” Nami grinned at him. “Besides, if seeing you on the dance floor doesn’t motivate him to get out there with you, he must be on medication.”

 

 

Sanji finished his coffee, still smiling, then pushed the empty cup to one side. “So... Now you’ve organised your surveillance of my love life, can I move on to a less enthralling topic?”

“If you have to.”

“This business plan I have to write... is totally kicking my ass.” Sanji let out a sigh.

“What’s the problem?”

“Half the figures I need for it, I either don’t know or I’m guessing at. It feels like a work of fiction.”

“Now you’re getting it.” Nami nodded. “Welcome to the world of business.”

“No, seriously – I’m trying to do this right, and I feel like I’m making half of it up!” Sanji ran his fingers into his hair.

 

 

“Hon, every entrepreneur out there is doing the exact same thing.” Nami reached out and gently lifted his hand away from where it had tangled in his fringe, before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “If people had any idea how the free market works... I’m telling you, the whole system is ten per cent actual capital, ninety per cent speculation and marketing BS. Everyone out there is making it up as they go along: no-one realises it, that’s all.”

“I think the bank will realise when I ask them for a loan, and back it up with a business plan that reads like a paperback novel.”

“Everyone is making it up. Including the banks.” Nami got a slightly grim expression on her face. “Especially the banks. Believe me.”

“You seem very sure about that.”

“I am. So stop worrying about it.” Nami made a dismissive gesture. “Finance is a game, Sanji. You just need to know what people want to hear, then tell them that. And what they want to hear, is that lending you money will make them some money. So that’s the spin you put on your business plan. That you need a small loan for the initial capital for start-up, but your turnover will soon increase to the point where you’ll be paying off the loan and interest in the time agreed. Period. That’s all they’ll care about. They’re not going to ask you where you got your figures from, if they look convincing. And if they do ask, just tell them you researched comparable businesses in this area. Have a list of business names you can reel off, that’ll do the trick. Sound confident and you won’t have a problem.”

 

 

“So all I’ve got to do is look confident while hoping they believe my fabricated business plan, and pray they don’t look too closely at the workings of my bank account over the past year.” Sanji sat back heavily in his chair. “Nnghh... Getting money from a bank is so stressful. Maybe I’ll just go to a nice friendly loan shark.”

Nami’s face changed, her eyes suddenly fixing on him. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

“Hey, why not? Less paperwork, no tedious meetings... I mean, sure, the whole thing of getting my legs broken if I don’t pay up on time might be a bit of a drawback, but - ”

“Not funny.” Nami’s voice was cold. “Don’t even think about going to those kinds of people.”

 

 

Sanji looked at her. “Uh. That was a joke, by the way. A pretty lame one, I admit.”

“Yes. It was.” Nami’s mouth tightened. “Because people being desperate enough to go to those sort of money lenders? Really not hilarious.”

“My bad.” Sanji let out a breath. “Sorry. Delete the last thirty seconds.” He tried a small smile at her. “Really, I’m sorry. I appreciate your help, and what you said about the business plan. I’m just a little wired about all this right now... And work is crazy this week too, so I’m just kind of sounding off. Ignore my incoherent ramblings.”

Nami’s expression relaxed a little. “Okay. Idiot.”

“And you know a hell of a lot more than me about all this kind of finance stuff, it’s a massive help to me. I couldn’t do this without you, Nami.”

“Damn straight.” This time she smiled back at him.

 

 

Sanji sat upright in his chair. “So. This is me. New, efficient, confident Sanji. Finishing the business plan first draft by the weekend. Emailing it to you so you can take a look and tell me what I need to change or add to it.”

“And then making a start on going to look at possible premises. And booking an appointment with your bank manager, when you’ve done your final draft of the plan.” Nami gave an approving nod. “Keep up the momentum.”

“Absolutely. In between tap dancing round the hotel kitchen and boning up on how kendo competitions work.”

“Isn’t it just two guys hitting each other with sticks?”

“Word of advice: don’t say that to Zoro, when you finally meet him.” Sanji rose from the table, moving round to help pull back Nami’s chair as she got up too. “Enchanté, mademoiselle. The pleasure of your company, as ever, is a beacon of light in my beleaguered existence.”

“I love you too.” Nami kissed him, before they shared a tight hug. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve read through the business plan. Don’t work too hard.”

“You either.” Sanji gave her a final hug, before walking with her to the coffee house door. “See you a week on Saturday.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Zoro lifted his fist and thumped three times on the bathroom door. “Luffy, get a fucking move on in there! I’m gonna be late for work!”

A muffled shout answered him through the closed door. “Meeng muh eef!”

Resting his shoulder against the wall, Zoro let out an impatient sigh before raising his voice again. “I need to shave. Now, or I’m going to miss my bus. So open that door before I bust it down!”

There was a pause of a few seconds... Then the door opened, and Luffy stuck his head out, wearing a towel draped round his neck and wide cheerful grin. “Sorry! I was cleaning my teeth!”

“Yeah, great, thanks for the update.” Zoro slid past him to the sink, turning on the tap. “Shit... Is the hot water on the fritz again?”

“The building super said they were getting someone in to look at it by the end of the week.” Luffy sat on the edge of the bathtub, swinging his heels slightly.

“It is the end of the week.” Zoro lathered up his face reluctantly with the lukewarm water, and reached for his razor. “There’s always something going wrong in this shitty apartment block.”

 

 

“Mhm-hm.” Luffy agreed, an unbothered expression on his face. “That’s why it’s low rent.”

“Cheapskate fucking landlords... Whoever owns this block must be coining it in.”

“I like it here.” Luffy pulled both ends of the towel still wrapped round his neck straight out in front of him. “The view out of the window is really cool.”

“Yeah, and one of these days you’re gonna be part of it, unless you quit sitting on that windowsill to watch the world go by.” Zoro winced as his razor negotiated stubble unsoftened by the tepid water. “Did you buy bread yesterday?”

“Ah.” Luffy’s eyes widened slightly. “I forgot. But I did get toaster scrambles - bacon and sausage flavour, they’re awesome. You can have some of those instead, I got three packets.”

Zoro grimaced, before scooping water up from the basin to rinse his face. Reaching for a towel, he turned to give his flatmate an unimpressed look. “Those things taste like melted plastic. I’ll grab something at work instead.”

“Okay. Are you working late?”

“Yeah. I won’t be back till nine, thereabouts.”

“What’re you doing tomorrow? There’s a graffiti jam happening southside, it’s gonna be fun.”

“Busy. Got a kendo tournament.” Zoro headed out of the bathroom. “That graffiti jam some kind of organised event? Thought the whole street art thing was pretty much outlawed here.”

 

 

Luffy trailed behind him to his room. “The guys I talked to said it was all kind of unofficial. But they’ve got some primo sites lined up to piece on.”

“Hope they’re wearing their running shoes for when the cops show up,” Zoro responded.

Luffy laughed. “No-one’s gonna care about a bunch of folks painting a few walls in that neighbourhood.”

“Tell that to Delbert Gutierrez.”

“Eh?”

“Graffiti artist in Miami.” Zoro pulled a t-shirt on over his head, then topped it with a hoodie. “Last year. Got killed when a cop ran his car into him.”

Luffy scratched his head, grimacing. “Oh.”

 

 

Zoro paused for a second, looking at his friend. “All I’m saying is, watch out for cops. And if the cops show up, run away fast.”

“I can do that.” Luffy brightened up. “I might get a chance to paint something.”

Zoro suspected that in the event of his friend getting hold of a spray can, the surface which would probably get the most paint on it would be Luffy himself. “Yeah, maybe. Aren’t you meant to plan a piece first, though?”

“I’ve got an idea!” Luffy gestured with both hands. “Like, a lion, only it’s a friendly lion so it’s smiling not roaring, and its mane is all like flames and stuff.”

“Yeah, paint a lion, excellent plan. Go for it.” Zoro looked around for his gym bag: spotted it by his desk.

“I can ask Usopp to help me.”

“Usopp’s going with you? Great. If the cops do show up, stick with him - that guy’s instincts for escape are second to none.”

“Uh huh.” Luffy grinned. “It’s gonna be cool. And there’s gonna be music later on, in the evening. You should come!”

 

 

“Like I said: tomorrow I’ve got a kendo tournament.” Zoro picked up his gym bag from the floor. “And afterwards I’m going to grab some food with Sanji.”

Luffy folded his arms across his chest, his grin giving way to a pout. “You hardly ever hang out at the moment.”

“I’ve been working my ass off, in case you haven’t noticed. Why don’t you call Ace and get him to come along with you guys? I’m sure he’d like to help you paint lions, or whatever. It sounds right up his street.”

“He said he was doing stuff with Marco and not to call him. Or text him. He said he was going to be tied up all weekend.”

 

 

“Knowing him and Marco, he probably meant that literally.” Zoro came to the doorway and stopped just in front of his friend, smiling wryly at the other’s scowl. “Oi, quit looking so pissed at me. It’s only tomorrow I’m busy doing other stuff.”

Luffy used his fingernail to scratch at something invisible on the door woodwork. “Mehh...”

“And I want to spend some time with Sanji. Just like Ace and Marco want to spend time with each other. C’mon Luffy, sounds like there’ll be a bunch of people doing this graffiti jam thing... Go along with Usopp and have fun.” He paused in the doorway. “Only not so much fun you wind up getting arrested.”

“Why can’t you and Sanji come back here?”

“Apart from the fact our apartment has no hot water and I live with a guy who leaves discarded clothing on every surface and thinks toaster scrambles are a balanced diet? No reason.”

Luffy scowled. “It’s not my fault there’s no hot water.”

“Right.” Zoro hefted his gym bag on his shoulder. “I’ve got to go to work.”

 

 

Looking up, Luffy’s reproachful gaze met him full strength. “Zoro...”

Zoro leaned his head against the doorframe, shutting his eyes. Let out a sigh. Then looked at his friend. “Okay. Maybe we’ll come back here, after we’ve been for a meal somewhere. I’ll ask Sanji if he wants to stay the night here instead of going back to his apartment. _If_   you reduce the chaos factor in the living room, which is ninety per cent your crap. Deal?”

“Okay!” Luffy brightened up instantly. “I’ll clean up the kitchen, too - he can cook us something!”

“I’m going to take him somewhere for dinner.” Zoro shook his head at his friend. “And anyway, he’s a chef, not a fucking magician – other than toaster scrambles and coffee, there isn’t a whole lot of anything in our kitchen for him to work with, unless you go out and buy it.”

“I’ll make a list.” Luffy looked inspired. “Don’t worry, I’ll get everything we need.”

“Get bread. That’d be a start.” Zoro cuffed him lightly across the top of his head, before moving past him. “Gotta go. Later.”


	2. Like The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the two kendōka flowed from unwavering stillness into blurring movement, a memory came back to Sanji. Of that night in the club on New Year’s Eve: Zoro moving so quickly it had been a blur, pinning his attacker down on the bar. And here and now, out on the gym floor, Sanji saw what Zoro was really capable of.

* * *

 

_Swift as the wind_  
_Quiet as the forest_  
_Conquer like the fire_  
_Steady as the mountain_

_\- Sun Tzu_

 

* * *

 

 

On Sunday morning Sanji got up at eight, making sure he’d have plenty of time to shower and breakfast before heading off to the gym hosting the kendo tournament. He’d been working on his business plan all through the evening before, finally managing to email it to Nami late on Saturday night with the apologetic note, _This probably sucks but if so please give me some ideas for how to fix it, my sweet._

While he was finishing his second cup of coffee his phone chimed. He took it out and saw Zoro’s name onscreen: opened the text that had just landed.

_‘Going to be outside the gym entrance 10am if you want to meet beforehand.’_

Sanji smiled. Typed in his reply. _‘Fine with me. Want me to wear a red carnation so u can find me OK?’_

_‘No trouble spotting you anywhere in a crowd swirly. I’ll just home in on the weird.’_

Eyes narrowing, Sanji stabbed an answer into his phone. _‘Says the guy with algae for hair.’_

_‘If you think green hair is weird you need to get out more shit cook.’_

_‘Yeah like I’m taking life coaching tips from someone who spends his weekends sword fighting in fancy dress.’_ Sanji smirked at his phone. _‘U sure you’re not into cosplay? Cos u show all the signs.’_

_‘FU curly brow.’_

_‘Maybe later. U ever do it wearing your kendo outfit?’_

There was a pause of almost a minute, before Zoro’s reply landed. _‘OK on 2nd thoughts maybe you coming today is a bad idea.’_

Sanji chuckled. _‘Tough too late coming now. See u outside at 10.’_ Hesitating for a moment, he added, _‘Looking forward to it.’_

Zoro’s reply was short but promising. _‘Good. See you there.’_

 

 

It didn’t take long to finish his breakfast and layer up for a cross-town bus journey in winter chill. It was an overcast day, grey and damp, but fortunately Sanji didn’t have far to walk, or long to wait until the bus arrived. He bought a ticket to the college campus where the gym was located and sat down in a window seat. He’d brought his ear buds with him: now he plugged them into his phone, scrolled through his playlists and chose one; hit play. Music began a soundtrack to the city street travelling past the window. He didn’t really register what the tracks were, just needing some background noise.

It wasn’t like he was anxious, this time around. He was looking forward to seeing Zoro, to spending time with him. After last weekend’s date he knew that the attraction he had towards the other man was real, and it felt like it was mutual. And the sex was... awesome; even just thinking about how Zoro had looked lying in his bed, how he had sounded, was enough to bring the blood into his cheeks right now. And assuming everything went okay today they would go for a drink or a meal afterwards and then hopefully things would develop from there again, because Sanji wanted to explore every inch of Zoro’s skin with his mouth.

_Uhhm... Fuck._

 

 

Sanji realised he had his eyes shut. And was imagining far too much detail for the present situation, even if the bus was fairly empty.

He let his gaze drift around the bus, looking for distraction. A few seats in front of him were a couple of guys who looked to be in their twenties, both holding bulky gym bags resting in their laps. Strapped to the side of each bag was long case, reminding Sanji of the one he’d seen in Zoro’s locker.

_Huh. They must be going to the tournament too, I guess._

He studied the two men for a few moments. They were talking together, laughing, evidently unworried about the prospect of competing. Sanji wondered if that confidence was typical of kendo fighters. Zoro certainly didn’t seem to have any deficit in that area. He recalled the other man’s words from the previous weekend.

_-_ _As a kend_ _ōka, you’re always out there to win._

 

 

One of the guys in the seats in front punched the other one on the shoulder, both of them laughing out loud again. Sanji let his gaze drift away, out of the bus window. Realised that actually he _was_ feeling slightly apprehensive: not about seeing Zoro, but about venturing into the other man’s territory. Because it was pretty clear, from what Zoro had said, that kendo was an important part of his life. So if Sanji went to this tournament and it turned out to be a big yawn-fest, that could be problematic.

He had done his homework, semi-mindful of Zoro’s advice that he would follow the tournament better if he had some grasp of what he was looking at. During the week he’d watched half a dozen video clips of kendo matches online, and scanned a few websites to try to unravel the rules and Japanese terminology. It was complicated though. And from what Sanji could work out, the whole sport was as much about the way you competed as it was about actually landing a strike on the correct target area on your opponent. Plus the whole yelling loudly at regular intervals was distracting.

He found himself frowning out of the window: took a breath, then released it as a sigh.

_Screw it. I’m going to watch Zoro compete. That’s what matters. Hopefully afterwards we can skip rapidly through the post-match analysis and get onto other topics. My kendo bluffing is only gonna hold out so long before I start making stuff up._

 

 

By the time the bus pulled into the stop at the college campus, Sanji had stowed his reservations about the day and got his head into a place where he was ready if not to embrace the world of kendo enthusiastically, at least to open up to the part that had Zoro in it.

Once he’d stepped onto the pavement, he looked for the two guys who’d been sitting in front of him: they were making their way across a small rectangle of green space, criss-crossed by paths and flanked all round by buildings. Pausing only to light a cigarette, Sanji set off in their wake.

At the far side of the open space the two men turned a corner, disappearing out of sight. Sanji followed after them, glancing around the campus as he did so. It seemed like a fairly modern site: the buildings looked new, the trees in the green space he’d just walked through just young saplings. He passed a knot of students walking in the opposite direction, talking loudly, carrying cups of coffee; laughing as they swapped stories of their adventures from the night before.

The place felt okay: nice, even. Nicer than the college he’d done his food tech and culinary arts courses at, back when he still lived with Zeff. He’d had to go to a college where he could still live at home, living on campus being a non-option because of lack of money. Which had been a major disadvantage for many reasons, not least of which being that when he’d wanted to hook up with someone he couldn’t take them back to his place. Because nothing was guaranteed to kill the mood quicker than Zeff looming in the background, either making blunt comments about the fashion choices of whoever Sanji had brought home, or sharing some deeply embarrassing tale of something Sanji had done when he was eleven years old. And once Sanji had figured out that he was bi, bringing dates home became a whole new minefield. For the longest time he resorted to the minimal disclosure approach, not sure how Zeff would react to the whole situation, and not much wanting to deal with a possible shit-storm on top of his college course workload.

 

 

As it turned out, the crap old geezer had taken it in stride. Like he did with every fucking thing in life, as far as Sanji could work out. When Sanji had finally outed himself, Zeff had merely nodded, looking up at his adopted son briefly from his restaurant accounts. “Figures. You never do anything the simple way, do you, brat?”

“It’s not complicated, you shitty old geezer. I’m bisexual. I’m just being up front with you so you don’t shit bricks if I come home one day with a boyfriend.”

Zeff had grunted. “Whatever. I could care less. As long as you don’t get some girl pregnant by accident or wind up in an STD clinic... Which you know how to avoid, unless you’re dumb enough to jump into bed with someone when you’re shitfaced drunk or high on something.”

Sanji had clenched both hands into fists. “First off: I don’t do that. Secondly: _please_   make that the last time we ever discuss sex.”

“Sure, suits me. You’re the one that brought the subject up.” And with that, Zeff had bent his gaze back down on his accounts.

 

 

Sanji found himself half-closing his eyes at that memory.

_Fucking Zeff._

He took a soothing lungful of smoke, using the sensation to bring himself back to the here and now. Shrugged his shoulders skywards then let them relax. Then focussed his gaze ahead, and realised that his progress had brought him to his destination. A few hundred yards away across a paved courtyard, a frontage that was mostly glass joined onto a large boxy building behind. A few people with bags on their shoulders, including the two men who’d been on the bus, were entering through the large doors in the centre: as Sanji got closer he saw a couple of posters taped to the glass that proclaimed _NRKA KENDO TOURNAMENT_.

There were also a few people lingering outside the building, talking in small groups. One of these shifted, opening up a little: and suddenly Sanji saw a familiar flash of green.

_Like I’d ever have trouble finding you somewhere._

 

 

He took a last hit on his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and extinguishing it beneath his shoe; then walked slowly towards the knot of people that Zoro was standing with. The other man was sideways on to Sanji, and evidently deep in conversation. As the chef drew closer however, something seemed to alert Zoro: he looked round and spotted Sanji approaching. A smile came onto his face; as Sanji reached the little group, Zoro nodded at him. “Oi, cook. You made it.”

Sanji smiled too. “Not everyone needs a seeing-eye dog to find their way across this city.”

Zoro gave him a look; beside him, one of the men he’d been talking with let out a loud laugh. “Looks like this guy knows you pretty well, bro!”

“Everyone’s a fucking comedian,” commented Zoro, raising one eyebrow. “Guys, this is Sanji. Don’t judge by first impressions, he’s not a total asshole once you get to know him. Plus he can cook okay.”

 

 

“Thanks for nothing, moss head, I can introduce myself.” Sanji shook hands with the man who’d spoken, who as he turned to Sanji revealed a Japanese symbol tattooed over the left side of his face. “And as a point of information: I don’t ‘cook okay’, I’m a professional chef, and a damn good one. Glad to meet you.”

“Johnny,” said the man, grinning. “Likewise. Zoro was telling us about how you met.”

“Yeah, sounded like a wild night!” A second guy with a crewcut and a red bandana knotted round his head leaned forward carefully: Sanji saw he was on crutches. “I’m Yosaku. Did he really get you fired from your job?”

“Yeah. Which he still hasn’t recompensed me for.” Sanji grinned at Zoro, while shaking hands with Yosaku. “Isn’t that right?”

Zoro grunted. “You chose to get involved. “

“It was either that or watch a homicide go down in front of me.” Zoro rolled his eyes at this, but made no further comment.

 

 

Johnny nodded at Sanji. “You’re going to watch us compete today, right?”

“Yeah.” Sanji took in the bulky bags that Johnny and Zoro both had slung on their shoulders, with similar long shinai cases to the ones he’d seen carried by the men on the bus. “Zoro said the morning was team matches, is that right?”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. Me and Zoro are in our dojo’s team.”

Sanji glanced at Yosaku, who gave him a wry smile. “I’m sitting this one out.” He gestured at his right knee. “Ruptured cruciate ligament. Some fucktard doing tai-atari hit me like an express train.”

Sanji grimaced in sympathy. “Shit... That sucks.”

“You got that right. It happened three months ago... I had surgery and I’m doing a ton of physio, but the medics reckon it’ll be another couple of months before I’m okay for kendo again.”

 

 

“You’ll get there, Yosaku.” Zoro spoke reassuringly to his friend. “You’ve just got to give it time to heal up properly.”

“Says the guy who once carried on competing with a busted collarbone.” Yosaku grinned at him.

Zoro shrugged. “It was an important tournament.”

“When is it ever not, with you?”

Johnny tapped Zoro on the shoulder, gesturing with his thumb at the gym entrance behind them. “We oughta get going. The opening speeches are in twenty minutes, we better not be late.”

“Yeah, okay.” Zoro nodded agreement, before looking at Sanji. “We’ll see you guys at lunchtime.”

“Sure.” Sanji smiled at him. “Good luck.”

Zoro’s smile in return was the confident one Sanji was starting to get familiar with. “Thanks. C’mon, Johnny.”

 

 

As the two kendōka walked away, Yosaku looked at Sanji. “Well... Guess we could go in too, find a seat. Unless you want to grab a coffee or something to take inside?”

“No, I’m good.” Sanji followed slowly as the other man began to head towards the gym entrance. That Yosaku was unable to put much weight on his right leg was evident, but he used his crutches deftly. As they went through the doorway and up to the desk to buy their entrance tickets, Sanji gestured at the other man’s knee. “You said you’ve still got a couple of months to go before you can do kendo again... Must be frustrating.”

“Totally.” Yosaku frowned as he got his ticket and shifted aside to let Sanji pay. “When it happened it hurt like hell, so for the first couple of weeks I didn’t want to do shit anyway. Then I had the surgery, and recovery after that... But when they told me minimum four months, maybe six before I could fight again: bro, I was _seriously_ pissed.”

“So is that just bad luck? Zoro said serious injuries aren’t common in kendo. That the, uh, match referees are pretty hot on policing the whole thing.”

“The shinpan? Yeah, they’re generally down on you like a ton of bricks, if they see you do something illegal. But it’s a combat sport, y’know? Shit happens.” Yosaku shrugged. “The guy that did this to me didn’t get reprimanded by his sensei or anything. Some dojos just go for the heavy-handed approach. I mean, the guy lost the shiai, sure: the shinpan awarded hansoku because he ploughed into me so hard I got injured. But tai-atari is a legitimate technique, we use it all the time.”

 

 

They were walking now down the corridor that led to the main gym area where the tournament was being staged. Other spectators were also making their way there, some helpfully holding open a set of swing doors for Yosaku as he negotiated them with his crutches. He smiled thanks at them, before continuing. “As for shit like this being uncommon... Well, I guess getting a bad injury doesn’t happen too often. But once is enough.” He looked rueful.

Sanji was inclined to agree. “For sure.”

“It’s not just missing out on kendo. I’ve had to take time off work too. And my health insurance only covered the basics, I was gonna have to fork out a fortune for physiotherapy. Luckily I found this guy who’s training and needed some people to do case studies on... He knows what he’s doing, but ‘cos he’s just starting out treating sports injuries he cut me a deal. I’ve only been seeing him for a few weeks but I can already feel the difference.”

“That’s good.” They had reached the doors that led into the main gym hall, which were propped open. “But not being able to work for months... That sounds kind of drastic. I don’t think I could do a sport where I’d be taking that kind of risk.”

 

 

Yosaku sighed. “Yeah, I won’t pretend it hasn’t been difficult. I had a little cash put by, but if it hadn’t been for Johnny I’d have been screwed.”

“He loaned you some money?”

“Yeah. We normally work together. As bail enforcement agents.” At Sanji’s quizzical look, Yosaku added, “We pick up people who skip bail, take them back to courts or local law enforcement.”

“That doesn’t exactly sound like a low-risk line of work, either.” Sanji raised one eyebrow. “Kendo fighting, picking up bad guys... You must like living on the edge.”

Yosaku laughed. “We don’t go after the really dangerous guys. You can pick and choose the fugitives you think are worth the risk, for the money you’ll get. And we always work together as partners, it’s a lot safer that way. Except these last three months I’ve been out of action... so Johnny’s had to work with a couple of other guys, for the hands-on stuff. When it comes to anything physical right now I can’t do shit – I can’t even drive – but I can help with research, finding information for where these assholes have been or might hide out. Y’know, computer work, digging through files. It bores me shitless but at least I’m still doing something.”

 

 

A large gym hall lay in front of them, the floor already marked out with taped lines into squares which Sanji assumed must be the kendo competing areas. On one side a row of tables had suited officials already sitting behind them, shuffling paperwork and leaning together in discussion. Opposite the tables, running down the length of the other side of the hall, were rows of tiered seating: quite a few spectators were already filling the seats. Sanji nodded towards the front row, where there were still a few spaces. “Shall we sit there? Might be easier with your crutches than climbing up steps.”

“Yeah, that’d be cool.” Yosaku swung himself nimbly enough towards one of the vacant seats, carefully dropping down into it with a sigh and stowing his crutches on the floor at his feet. “Wow, that’s better. Hopping round on those things gets pretty old.”

“I bet.” Sanji looked up around them, at the other spectators: a mix of ages and groups, ranging from families to students and older people. “Seems like a pretty popular event. You always get this many people turning out for these things?”

Yosaku nodded. “Uh huh. There’s usually a good crowd shows up for tournaments, especially if there’s a few local dojos competing like today.”

“So you and Johnny practice at the same dojo as Zoro?”

“Yeah. Johnny and me have been at Kogaku-Kan a few years. It’s a good dojo: Takahashi sensei is a great teacher.” Yosaku grinned. “And since bro Zoro joined last year, everyone’s had to up their game. He doesn’t exactly take any prisoners.”

Sanji smiled. “So he’s good, then?”

Yosaku let out a short laugh. “Watch him in action today and see what you think.”

 

 

Shrugging, Sanji nodded towards the marked-out competition squares on the gym floor. “I’m interested to see how this whole thing works. But I have to admit, I know pretty much nothing about kendo. I watched a bunch of videos this week, but it’s not exactly the easiest sport to get your head around.”

“It’s not so difficult once you understand the basics,” replied Yosaku. “You get the whole legitimate target areas on the body thing, right?”

“I think so.” Sanji recalled his sketchy research. “To score you have to hit your opponent on the head, the wrists or their side.”

“Uh huh: men, kote, dō.” Yosaku nodded. “And there’s one more type of strike: tsuki, to the throat. But only experienced kendōka are s’posed to use that strike, because if you get it wrong you could really fuck up someone’s day.”

Sanji raised one eyebrow. “Sounds like it. You go for your opponent’s _throat_  with your shinai?  Hardcore.”

“That’s why you gotta know what you’re doing, with tsuki. But you’re aiming for the tsuki-dare, that takes the worst of it. Same with the other targets, y’know? The bōgu you’re wearing protects you.” Yosaku considered for a moment, then added a qualifier. “Mostly.”

 

 

“Okay... But what I didn’t get is how the referees sometimes figure out who’s won a point. Some of those video clips I watched I couldn’t even see the strike hit, the competitors were moving so fast. And other times it looked like someone got a good hit in, but they didn’t win.”

Yosaku nodded. “That’s why it takes three shinpan to referee a match, guys who are high-level kendōka themselves. Three pairs of eyes, and knowing the sport inside out. Because it’s not just about landing a strike in the right place to get ippon - to score a point your posture has to be right, you gotta have good zanshin, it’s a whole big picture thing.”

“Do the shinpan ever get competitors arguing with them?”

“Seriously bad move, that’ll get you a foul. And if you notch up two of ‘em your opponent gets a point.”

“And you need two points to win a match?”

“The first competitor to score two points wins... Or if only one fighter scores ippon by the end of the match, he wins. Or if it’s tie there’s three things that might happen - ”

Sanji held up both hands. “Uh, okay: information overload. How about if from hereon in I just ask you about any stuff I don’t understand, when it happens?”

Yosaku grinned a little sheepishly. “Sorry, bro. It really is a cool sport, once you get the hang of it.”

“I’m prepared to be convinced.” Sanji grinned back at him. “But there’s only so much tech speak my brain can handle in one sitting.”

 

 

A general stirring of the spectators in the bleachers and sounds off to one side made both men look round: through the gym hall entrance several dozen people were entering, some evidently competitors in kendo gear, others in suits carrying the red and white flags Sanji recognised from his online video viewing. “Those guys with the flags are the shinpan, right?”

“Yeah.”

Sanji ran his eyes over the competitors as they walked into the hall, spreading down the sides but staying in groups that he assumed must be dojo teams. Suddenly he spotted Zoro, bringing up the rear of a line with his fellow dojo members. The sight made Sanji’s mouth quirk up at one corner. He’d seen plenty of kendōka in the clips he’d watched and the initial strangeness of the dark loose tunics and broad trousers had worn off after a while... But seeing Zoro dressed in the kendogi and hakama was a whole other deal. As the teams walked to their designated areas in the gym, Sanji found himself following Zoro with his gaze.

_Okay, that’s... surprisingly hot._

 

 

All the dojo teams were standing in the hall now with the shinpan in front of them, everyone facing the line of tables where the judges sat, before bowing to them as one. Then one of the judges stood and began an opening speech that was long on formal and short on interest, so Sanji tuned it out. Fortunately it didn’t last long, and as soon as it was over teams and shinpan began arranging themselves around the hall.

Yosaku pointed across the space. “That’s Takahashi sensei, over there.”

Sanji followed his line of sight, to see a stocky Asian man with a crewcut seating himself on a chair near the team that Johnny and Zoro were part of. Like his students, Takahashi was wearing a kendo outfit. “He’s competing today as well?”

“Not competing. But there’s jigeiko at the end of the morning, he’ll be taking part in that.” At Sanji’s questioning look, Yosaku clarified. “Like, kind of a free-for-all sparring session. It’s a great opportunity to go up against someone higher level than yourself.”

 

 

The Kogaku-Kan dojo team had moved to a row of small mats laid on the floor, where they took up station facing an opposing team from another dojo. Both lines of kendōka bowed to each other; then the competitors placed their shinai and other gear neatly on or beside the mats before kneeling down. Others were already wearing full bōgu, but Sanji noticed that Zoro was not in this latter group. “Zoro’s not fighting in this round?”

“Yeah, but he’s taisho: he fights last.” Yosaku counted off on his fingers. “First in is senpo; then jiho – that’s Johnny. Chuken third, fukusho fourth, then taisho. If you’ve got a good team then everyone is important, but if you’re taisho you really have to nail it... Especially if the guys before you haven’t got enough points, then you have kick ass. And even if your team’s winning, same deal: if you’re taisho you’re supposed to demonstrate ideal kendo. Kind of a pride thing.”

Sanji regarded Zoro. “So a pretty responsible role, I take it.”

“Yeah. Not that other positions in the team are easy. Being senpo is pretty hair-raising, you gotta go out there and own it because you’re first up. And if the senpo fucks up, then the jiho has to pull everyone’s chestnuts out the fire. Ditto for the chuken... But it also depends on what the other team you’re up against is like. Y’know, where they’ve put their strongest fighters. There’s a lot of different tactics you can use.”

 

 

One player from each team was now stretching and limbering up at the side of the space, each man’s face obscured by the grille of his men. The three shinpan consulted together in the centre of the marked-out square, before moving into position with their red and white flags. Sanji glanced at the two kendōka on the sidelines: the fighter from the Kogaku-Kan team had a strip of red ribbon affixed to his upper back, hanging down between his shoulder blades; his opponent a white one. “So we’re cheering team red.”

“Yeah. Although, uh, cheering’s not encouraged.”

Sanji gave him a look. “Okay. What _is_ allowed in the way of spectator participation? Polite smiling? Really emphatic body language?”

“Clapping’s okay,” Yosaku offered.

“Weirdly restrained for a sport that’s basically about hitting your opponent with a bamboo sword whilst screaming at him.”

Yosaku shrugged. “That’s just how it is, bro. Kendo isn’t just a sport, it’s a whole way of doing things. Y’know, what kendo actually means.”

“I thought it just meant something to do with swords.”

“Well, yeah - if you translate the word kendo, sure. The way of the sword. But it’s more than just how to use a sword, it’s all kinds of other stuff too. A ton of discipline, a whole mental and spiritual side to it.” Yosaku gave a wry smile. “Which is where I fucking struggle, if I’m honest. But the really good kenshi, they totally get into the zone. You can see it when they fight: it puts them on a whole different level.”

 

 

The word Yosaku used was one Sanji recognised, but it took him a moment or two to place it. It surfaced from his memory: something Zoro had said on New Year’s Eve as they walked back to Sanji’s apartment.

_-_ _Some of the fight scenes are awesome. Mifune could really move like a kenshi._

He looked at Yosaku. “Kenshi? Is that different to kendōka? Like, a higher level of fighter or something?”

Yosaku raised one finger and scratched at his cheek, thoughtfully. “Not exactly. It’s more like... Okay, kendōka is like a general term for anyone who does kendo, yeah? Kenshi, that’s an older word: kind of a hangover from samurai days, I guess. It means ‘swordsman’. Most people say kendōka, but more experienced fighters sometimes get called kenshi; and sensei too. It’s usually used as a term of respect.”

 

 

Sanji filed this away for future reference, his gaze following the two kendōka who were now walking into the square marked out for the match. The two competitors paused; bowed briefly to each other; then walked forwards to two taped lines a couple of yards apart on the floor. Each kendōka smoothly transferred his shinai from his left hand to his right, in a movement that echoed the drawing of a sword from its sheath; then both men sank down into a crouch.

“That’s sonkyo,” Yosaku said in a helpful stage whisper. “We always do that at the start and finish of a shiai.”

Sanji nodded, keeping his eyes on the two kendōka – who rose, suddenly moving as one, stepping swiftly forwards and bringing their shinai together with a clash of bamboo on bamboo. And from that point onwards he was only able to follow the match in glimpses: one kendōka pressing forwards, the other apparently falling back; then the positions suddenly reversing as they traversed the floor. Both competitors joining in a moment of near stillness, the tips of their shinai barely touching, sliding cautiously one against the other, seeking an opening; and then the sudden swift exchange of thrust and parry and counter-thrust.

Once the shinpan’s red flags flashed upwards, signalling a point, although the Kogaku-Kan kendōka’s successful strike had landed too swiftly on his opponent for Sanji to even see it. He joined in the applause though, giving Yosaku a quick querying glance: the other man leaned towards him and said out of the corner of his mouth as he clapped, “Kote strike. Nice clean hit.”

 

 

Finally the whistle blew for the end of the shiai: both kendōka came back to the centre in sonkyo before stepping backwards and giving a quick bow to each other, then returning to their respective team’s row of mats. Almost before they had sat down, the next two competitors were taking up position on the kendo court. Yosaku leaned forward a little, murmuring, “Go, Johnny.”

Once again the two kendōka came together in a blur of movement. Johnny’s opponent was a little taller than him, but the two seemed pretty evenly matched, as far as Sanji could tell: and within a minute of the start the shinpan were simultaneously lifting their red flags to signal a point. The next ippon a little while later went to the white team, eliciting a quiet groan from Yosaku. For the remainder of the shiai the two kendōka moved back and forth, their progress punctuated by the impact of bamboo on bamboo, the thudding of bare feet on the gym’s wooden floor, and the loud cries of each man’s kiai. Finally Johnny’s shinai swept down in a swift strike to his opponent’s men: the red flags whisked upwards and Yosaku sat back with a grin, joining in with the general applause. “Way to go, bro.”

 

 

As each team’s third competitor moved into the square, Sanji found his gaze shifting to the row of mats where the Kogaku-Kan team sat cross-legged. At one end of the line of mats was Zoro, watching the start of the next shiai. After a few moments he reached down to the small pile of bōgu by his knee and picked up a rectangle of black cloth, holding it by its corners. He laid the cloth across his head, then his hands moved smoothly and swiftly to wrap each side of it round, before deftly folding the remaining part back. His fingers adjusted the headcloth slightly, settling it neatly into place; and then it was done. A small ritual that Zoro’s hands had moved through as if he hadn’t needed to think.

As Sanji watched Zoro reached for his men next, placing it onto his head and tightening the strings to secure it in place. Once that was done he put on both his kote, the left hand first. Every movement as deliberate, as precise, as donning the black headcloth had been.

Sanji was so immersed in watching Zoro suit up that he missed the action in the shinai in front of them. It was only when the shinpan called time out and everyone began clapping that he looked round. “Oh. Who won?”

“Other team.” Yosaku sounded unworried. “S’okay though, we’re still out in front.”

 

 

While the fourth competitor from each team went into the fray, the final kendōka from both dojos rose and began to stretch and pace slowly behind their teams, shinai held in their left hands, warming up for their match. Each man had his name and dojo printed in white on the tare that hung down from their waist, and a red or white ribbon securely knotted between their shoulder blades.

Watching Zoro stretch up his arms, then bounce lightly on the balls of his bare feet, Sanji was surprised to find a little jag of anxiety making its presence felt inside him. As the fourth shiai progressed he tried to catch a glimpse of Zoro’s expression, but the close-set metal bars of the grille on the front of the kendo men made it impossible to see more than just the other man’s features: even the bright green of his hair was obscured, by the cloth he’d tied around his head. His pre-match stretches apparently over, he fell to pacing slowly back and forth, his head turned slightly towards the kendo court: evidently following his teammate’s progress.

 

 

Beside Sanji, Yosaku let out a hiss between his teeth. “Whoa, _good_   point.” Applause rose: Sanji joined in with the general acclaim, leaning over to murmur, “We still winning?”

“That was the other team’s point, bro. So it could go either way.” Yosaku shrugged. “That was a really awesome men strike, though.”

“Oh.” Sanji regarded the shiai still playing out in front of them. The white team’s kendōka was almost half a head taller than the competitor from the Kogaku-Kan dojo, whose tare bore the name MIURA. “Looks like your guy Miura drew the short straw... His opponent’s got kind of a height advantage.”

“Doesn’t always matter.” Yosaku shrugged, his eyes following the action in front of them.

“For real? Having a longer reach must help.”

“Not if you’re slow, or your footwork sucks.” There was a _thwack_  from the court and he winced slightly. “But that guy’s pretty fast.”

 

 

The remainder of the shiai played out with no further scoring, so as both kendōka backed away and bowed Sanji looked at Yosaku. “So each team’s got two wins, right?”

Yosaku nodded. “Two match wins. And each team’s got three points. So Zoro’s gotta win his shiai.” He pointed towards the white team’s kendōka, who was walking out onto the kendo court. “That’s Sakamura. Seen him fight before, he’s pretty good.”

Both kendōka crouched down, then rose with shinai lifting tip to tip. And a second later Zoro’s opponent drove forwards, aiming straight for Zoro’s men... When there was the sharp _crack!_   of bamboo hitting lacquered armour and the shinpan lifted their red flags smartly up.

“Wait, what - ” Sanji joined in the clapping, aware that Zoro had somehow scored a point but having totally missed the actual strike in the blur of the two men’s shinai. “Zoro got him _already?”_

“Dō strike, Sakamura’s right side. Sweeeeet.” Yosaku was grinning with satisfaction. “Look, Sakamura’s totally amped now. This oughta be good.”

 

 

As the two kendōka came together again Sanji couldn’t detect any rise in overall aggression, given that every match so far had consisted of clashing shinai, foot stomping and loud kiai yells. But he could see that Yosaku’s description of the taisho needing to demonstrate ideal kendo seemed to be accurate. All the competitors so far had been good, as far as Sanji could tell: fast, agile, strong. But it was evident that for this final shinai each dojo had picked their strongest kendōka, and neither was about to let their team down. They moved back and forth, circling, switching, striking and parrying: feet thudding as they traversed the floor. An exchange of strikes but the red and white flags stayed down: both kendōka faced each other off close up, shinai crossed against each other, each man letting out loud kiai. Sanji heard Zoro’s cry resonate, raw and powerful – and then the kendōka were breaking apart, moving again, resuming their brutal dance.

 

 

_Fuck._

 

 

Sanji had been prepared to be bored at the tournament. He had been ready to don a polite expression of attention, and not to look at the clock too often. He had even been willing to make the effort to come up with intelligent questions about the things he didn’t understand. But what he hadn’t been prepared for was what it was like to watch Zoro fight.

It was fucking _amazing._

Zoro moved like a flame licking around something it wanted to burn. Or held himself still with his shinai barely touching his opponent’s, steady as water gathered on the lip of a cup before it spills. Focussed like sunlight through a magnifying glass, gathered to a point of intensity that sets fire to everything it touches.

As the two kendōka flowed from unwavering stillness into blurring movement, a memory came back to Sanji. Of that night in the club on New Year’s Eve: Zoro moving so quickly it had been a blur, pinning his attacker down on the bar. And here and now, out on the gym floor, Sanji saw what Zoro was really capable of. This wasn’t like their sparring the week before, a few rounds of grappling for fun and vying for dominance. This was naked purpose, and Zoro’s purpose was to win, absolutely nothing less. Every forceful stamp of his bare feet against the wooden floor, every flashing sweep of his shinai signalled it. The set of his shoulders, the upright curve of his spine. The absolute control of his stillness, the blurring speed of his attacks.

_I almost feel sorry for that other guy._ And even as he thought this, Sanji found a smile irresistibly coming to his face. As a chef he knew perfection; he valued it. He didn’t know much about kendo and he’d only been watching Zoro fight for a little over a minute, but he knew he was watching poetry. It was like listening to a piece of music that brought on a high. Like tasting an exquisite dish that stopped time in your mouth.

He remembered when Zoro had taken his wooden katana out of its case in the locker room at the gym; how he’d briefly held it in one hand. Sanji had glimpsed something then: some sense of rightness, of harmony. But nothing to what he was seeing now.

_Skilful. Predatory. Intense._  The words fell through his mind one after the other, as he watched.

_Arousing._

 

Sanji gave his head just the slightest shake, to try to erase that last one. Unsuccessfully.

_Definitely not boring._

 

 

When the shiai ended neither kendōka had scored another point, despite the full-on exchanges that had taken place between them: Zoro remained the winner. Joining in with the applause after both kendōka had bowed, Sanji said to Yosaku, “So your team won, right?”

“Yeah, Zoro nailed it: we’re up three matches to two. Plus we’re ahead on points.” Yosaku was grinning as he clapped. “Good start to the day.”

Sanji looked across to the Kogaku-Kan dojo team. Zoro had rejoined them: both their team and the opposing one rose and lined up along their sides of the kendo court, stepped into it and bowed to each other, before backing away and clapping their opponents. The Kogaku-Kan kendōka then moved back to their row of mats, while the other team walked off to the side of the gym.

Like his teammates Zoro resumed his place kneeling on a mat, laying down his shinai. As Sanji watched, Zoro took off his kote, laying them one after the other neatly on the floor: then he unlaced and slid off his men before placing it face down on top of his kote. Lastly he took off the black cloth from his head, folded it and laid it on top of the men. Sanji saw him let out a breath, before turning his head towards one of his teammates as the other man spoke to him. A smile came onto his face and he gave a small nod of acknowledgement, before returning his gaze to the front. Sanji noticed that his hair was dark with sweat.

 

 

“So, what do you think?” Yosaku’s question caught Sanji slightly off guard. Taking his gaze away from Zoro, he managed a more or less intelligent reply. “Uh... Great.”

“Zoro’s an awesome fighter, huh? We’re lucky to have him on our team.” Yosaku gestured towards the kendōka in front of them. “I mean, everyone out there is good, overall we gotta strong line up... But Zoro’s in a league of his own. He could be fighting in PNKF regional tournaments, maybe even the nationals one day.”

Sanji wasn’t surprised. “Does he plan to?”

“Hell if I know.” Yosaku shrugged, grinning. “But pretty soon he’s gonna run out of opponents round here that he hasn’t beaten.”

“Mhm.” Sanji nodded. “That Sakamura guy looked pretty good out there as well, though.”

“Yeah, he is. I was stoked when he let that dō strike get through his guard, I’ll bet he’s seriously pissed about that one. He and bro Zoro fought before, a few months back in another team competition. Their shiai was a draw, but overall our dojo team lost on points.”

“So today was grudge match, huh?”

“It’s _always_ a grudge match.” Yosaku let out a short laugh. “If you mean getting out there and stomping the other guy. That’s kind of a given, in kendo.”

 

 

As the tournament continued throughout the morning, the Kogaku-Kan dojo’s team continued to do well. Watching successive shiai, Sanji began to follow the action with more clarity, and to pick up the rhythm of the sport. Point scoring was still confusing – he still had no idea how the shinpan could determine sometimes who had landed a correct strike – but overall the whole thing was starting to make more sense. He found himself noticing slight differences in fighting style between kendōka: how some seemed to occupy the space more assertively than others, their stance and fighting form grounded and unshakeable, even when pitted against aggressive opponents. He began to get a sense of what Yosaku had meant earlier when he had talked about kendo’s discipline, its mental side.

Sanji remembered Zoro kneeling in meditation, that first morning after they’d met. Him explaining afterwards why he did it.

_What was that phrase he used?_

Sanji searched his memory: finally trawled it up. _Mushin no shin. Mind without mind._

Watching Zoro fight out there, it was hard to reconcile that with the image of him kneeling in meditation. Yet he had said it was about focus, and _that_ Sanji understood. It was the same when he cooked: he had to be completely focused on the ingredients he was preparing, the tools he was using, the dish he was creating. He didn’t like people talking to him while he was working in the kitchen, for precisely that reason.

 

 

When all the team matches had been played, Sanji was unsurprised to see the Kogaku-Kan team proclaimed overall winners. If this had been any other sports fixture this would have been the point at which loud cheering would have broken out, but being kendo there was a lot of clapping, followed by more formal bowing by teams and officials. After this the teams withdrew to the edges of the gym. Most of the kendōka started to pair up, mostly with others from their own dojo, but a few sought out particular opponents from elsewhere. Sanji saw Zoro approach a tall older man, the sensei of a rival dojo, and exchange a few words with him. The man smiled and nodded, before the two moved away to don their kote and men.

Yosaku nudged him in the side. “It’s just jigeiko now... We might as well head to the café and get some lunch, there’s a place on campus which is okay. Unless you want a beer or something?”

“No... Just something to eat is fine.” Sanji looked round, to see other spectators in the seats about them stirring and picking up jackets and bags. “What time is it?”

“Quarter to twelve. Individual shiai don’t start till half-one, we’ll have plenty of time.” Yosaku levered himself up to his feet using his crutches, before gesturing towards the kendōka beginning to spar in the gym hall. “Johnny and Zoro’ll come find us.”

 

 

The college cafeteria was only a short walk from the gym building. Like the rest of the campus it was modern, with plenty of tables and seating and a pleasant buzz of relaxed noise from college students enjoying their weekend. Sanji and Yosaku found a table not far from the door, so they could flag down the other two as they arrived. The food was nothing special, but it was at least freshly prepared: Sanji chose a chicken salad wrap accompanied by a cup of coffee, and tried not to think uncharitable thoughts about whoever had thought including over-enthusiastic amounts of cheap mayo was an indispensable part of salad dressing.

He was still eating when Yosaku raised a hand and hailed across the room. “Yo! Johnny, Zoro – over here, guys!”

Sanji looked round, to see the two men approaching them. Both had changed out of their kendo uniforms into gym pants and hoodies bearing the Kogaku-Kan dojo logo. As they reached the table Yosaku reached upwards and he and Johnny shared a resounding high five. “Good work, bro!”

Zoro smiled at them, before looking at Sanji. The chef gave him a nod. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Zoro glanced towards the food counter. “I’m gonna get something to eat. You guys want anything?”

“No, I’m good.” Yosaku shook his head.

“Burger and fries and a coke, bro.” Johnny dug out some crumpled bills and passed them over: Zoro took them with a grunt.

 

 

Sanji picked up his coffee cup. “I could use a refill.”

Zoro took the cup. “Just a regular?”

“No, a skinny vanilla latte.”

Zoro gave him a look. “The fuck am I asking for _that_.”

Sanji propped his elbows on the table, smiling mockingly upwards. “Are you daunted by the challenge of remembering a sophisticated coffee order, o mighty kendo warrior? Want me to write it down for you?”

“Asshole.” Zoro rolled his eyes, turning away. “I’ll get your lame-ass coffee.”

“And not too much froth.” Sanji added this parting instruction at Zoro’s departing back, before turning to see Yosaku and Johnny watching him with sly grins. “What?”

Yosaku gave a slight shake of his head, while Johnny let out a chuckle. “Nothing, bro. Just in awe of your ability to pull that off without sustaining physical damage.”

Sanji raised his eyebrows slightly. “Because I give you the impression I’m a lightweight?” He let a dark smile come onto his face. “Did Zoro mention that as well as being a chef, I do savate?”

 

 

Johnny blinked. “Whoa... No, he didn’t. That’s cool. Do you compete?”

“No. No time for that. But I fight pretty well.” Sanji hesitated, then decided to go the whole nine yards. “In fact, Zoro and I had a sparring session last week. He didn’t mention that either?”

“Nope.”

“Figures. Seeing as how I kicked his ass.”

“No way!” Johnny let out a loud laugh, attracting looks from people at other tables. “You beat him?”

“Two out of three falls.” Sanji smirked.

“Ha, cool...” Johnny leaned back in his chair, grinning too. “You must be some kind of serious fighter, if you took him down.”

“I was really motivated.” Sanji shrugged.

 

 

It was only a couple of minutes before Zoro returned, bearing a tray with his and Johnny’s food and drinks, Sanji’s coffee and two large bottles of water. He deposited everything on the table before ditching the tray and sitting down. Reaching for one of the bottles of water he twisted off its cap and drank it down in one go, without pausing for breath. Sanji watched him with an amused smile, sipping his latte. As Zoro set the empty bottle down on the table and picked up the second, the chef commented, “Little thirsty?”

Zoro just nodded, reaching for his food. “Yeah. As it happens.”

“You can get dehydrated real quick, especially in a tournament.” Johnny had also started drinking his coke, although he was taking his in more regular mouthfuls, in between wolfing down his burger and fries. “You sweat like crazy in your kendogi.”

“Yeah, it looked like it.” Sanji’s nose had also detected that neither man had apparently had time to shower before coming for lunch. “Not to mention, smells like it. You guys reek.”

 “Sorry, bro. Not a whole lot of time to grab lunch before this afternoon’s shinai.” Johnny grinned, unabashed.

 

 

Zoro swallowed the mouthful of food he’d been eating, then in a swift movement leaned around the corner of the table and caught Sanji round the neck with one hand, dragging the chef against him. “That’s shitty manners, cook. Apologise to my friend.”

“Ack!” Sanji tried to recoil, but Zoro’s arm was locked around him. “Fuck! I’m being gassed by moss musk!”

Zoro leaned his head against the chef’s, grinning. “Want me to drip some sweat in your vanilla latte?”

“Gag - get off me, craphead!” Sanji pulled himself free. “Fucking hell, you have no social graces whatever. We are _eating_ , you moron.”

Zoro resumed his lunch, popping some fries into his mouth. “Yeah, so?”

“So no-one wants your sweaty torso anywhere near them. Me included.”

This time it was Zoro’s turn to smirk. “That’s a new development.”

 

 

Sanji felt blood rise up into his cheeks. “Please stop talking now. That or choke on your fries, whichever gets you silent first.”

Zoro gave him a slow sidelong grin... Before turning his attention back to his food.

Sanji managed to look at Yosaku and Johnny, although it still felt like his face was on fire. “So, what else shall we talk about?”

“It’s totally cool, bro.” Yosaku spoke, both men also grinning.

“Yeah, don’t mind us.” Johnny made a dismissive gesture. “It’s great you and Zoro got together, he’s been way nicer to be around the last couple of weeks. So now when it’s my turn to practice with him at the dojo I don’t feel doomed.”

Sanji took a breath. “Great.”

“Seriously, bro.” Yosaku gave him a double thumbs-up. “It’s all good.”

 

 

Sanji found himself meeting the other man’s friendly smile... And wondered just why the hell he was feeling embarrassed, anyway. They were all adults. And this was a college campus, so presumably a little more liberal than your average bar or eatery.

_It’s not like we’re gonna be gay bashed over lunch._

He let his eyes travel sideways to where Zoro was still eating, polishing up the last of his fries and washing it down with a mouthful of water. As the other man finished his meal, he became aware of Sanji’s attention and met his gaze. “What is it, shit cook? Fretting about the menu in here?”

“Idiot moss head.” Sanji nodded at the other man’s now-empty plate. “You always eat junk food when you’re competing?”

A frown pulled Zoro’s brows together. “I was hungry.”

“Crap like that won’t do you any good. You should at least have had some salad with it.”

“I didn’t want salad.”

“Being part plant yourself, you ought to have a natural affinity with leafy things. You obviously need to top up your chlorophyll levels if you’re getting cranky.”

Zoro folded his arms, leaning both elbows on the table. “I wasn’t feeling cranky till you started giving me dietary advice.”

 

 

Sanji gave him a look. Then his gaze dropped lower. When Zoro had moved the sleeves of his hoodie had slid up a little, uncovering his forearms. Specifically, revealing a couple of dark and angry-looking bruises that marked the skin between his right wrist and elbow. Sanji frowned slightly: Zoro raised his eyebrows. “Now what?”

Sanji gestured towards his wrist. “That happen this morning?”

Zoro looked down at his own arm, lifting it slightly to inspect the bruising before pursing his lips and giving a noncommittal nod. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?” Sanji eyeballed the bruises, which were pretty spectacular.

“Well, after I got that dō strike on Sakamura, he came back kind of hard.” Zoro rested his arm back on the table. “He knew he wasn’t gonna get through, but that didn’t stop him trying.”

“Sore fucking loser,” commented Johnny. Zoro just shrugged, evidently unworried.

“So much for your bōgu protecting you,” Sanji remarked.

“If someone’s really going for it, all the padding in the world isn’t gonna help.” Zoro took a swig of his water. “Some assholes just love to swing a pain stick. Or their tenouchi sucks. You just gotta roll with it.”

“And comparing bruises after a tournament, that’s just part of the fun.” Johnny grinned.

“Right. Because getting your skin tattooed by someone else’s shinai, equals big fun.” Sanji shook his head slightly.

 

 

“Just gotta man up. Plus a few battle scars impresses the hell out of girls.” Johnny glanced across the café, to a clock on the wall. “Eh, it’s after one o’clock, Zoro. We oughta go.”

Zoro drained the last of his water, before giving a nod. “Sure.”

Sanji looked at him. Found a smile coming onto his own face. On an impulse he leaned close in to the other man: Zoro turned to look at him, and Sanji used the opportunity to plant a kiss decisively on his mouth. Pulling back he was gratified to see a flush of colour rise into Zoro’s cheeks.

_Ha. Payback, moss head._

Aloud, Sanji said airily, “Just for luck.” And savoured the ambushed look on Zoro’s face.

 

 

Johnny, rising from the table, covered his eyes in mock dismay. “Whoa... Get a room, guys!”

Smirking, Sanji also stood up. “We’re done.”

Zoro pushed back his chair too. “Shitty cook...” But now he was smiling too, just a little.

Yosaku carefully got himself back up on his crutches. “If the floor show’s over, bro, let’s get back to the gym.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a whole bunch of kendo terms in this chapter, most of which are clarified in the storyline. But to summarise them here for those of you who are as geeky about terminology as I am:
> 
> kendōka = someone who practices kendo, a kendo fighter  
> shinai = the bamboo (or carbon fibre) sword used in kendo  
> tai-atari = a move where one opponent slams into the other with his body, literally "body strike"  
> shinpan = referees  
> shiai = a kendo match  
> hansoku = foul  
> bōgu = collective term for kendo armour  
> men = head protector, with a metal grille over the face  
> kote = wrist protectors  
> dō = breastplate / body protector  
> tsuki-dare = neck protector  
> tare = belt with flaps to protect legs and vulnerable soft bits  
> kendogi = loose dark top worn by kendōka  
> hakama = loose dark trousers worn by kendōka  
> tsuki = a type of strike using the end (point) of the shinai, common cause of injury  
> ippon = a legitimate match point  
> zanshin = combination of physical, mental and spiritual alertness essential to score ippon  
> senpo/jiho/chuken/fukusho/taisho = fighter positions in team matches  
> sonkyo = ceremonial crouch both kendōka go into at start of a shiai  
> jigeiko = free / informal sparring  
> kiai = loud shout or cry used in martial arts to demonstrate that you're bad-ass  
> tenouchi = technique for gripping/holding shinai; if done wrongly inflicts unnecessary pain on you and your opponent  
> kenshi = usually translated as "swordsman", term of respect
> 
> Kendo is a world of strangeness and beauty (and bruises). Any mistakes/inaccuracies in this fic are mine alone. If you want to get more of an idea of how kendo matches work, there are zillions of clips on YouTube etc. For tai-atari and general full-on foot-stomping scariness the Japanese Police Kendo Teams are worth a watch... Though most kendōka frown on such excessively aggressive tactics.


	3. Looking For Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were both quiet for a few moments, walking along the street. At last Sanji spoke again. “For the record... You did look like you knew what you were doing. Out there today.”
> 
> “Is that you being complimentary, cook?” Zoro queried sardonically. “I’m overwhelmed.”
> 
> “Yeah well, bear in mind I’m a total novice to this whole kendo thing. I have no idea if you’re actually any good, or if it was just that your opponents sucked and you had a lucky day.” Sanji smirked as he said this.
> 
> Zoro breathed out, slowly. “Luck wasn’t involved, curly brow.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_If you're looking for trouble then I could provide  
I'm already undressing you with my eyes_

_\- Timeflies_

 

* * *

 

During the afternoon session of the tournament Sanji found it harder to concentrate, despite his lunchtime caffeine fix. The tiring week in the hotel kitchen was making itself felt, plus with a lot more shiai happening simultaneously in the gym hall it became harder to follow what was going on. Women’s individual matches were taking place alongside the men’s and in the early stages Zoro was often fighting his shiai on the far side of the hall, which meant no clear view of the action. At one point the chef slipped out for a smoke break, standing watching the late afternoon winter light fade from the sky and feeling the fresh cool air on his skin.

When he returned to the gym it was to find that Johnny had succumbed to a kendōka from another dojo, joining others from his team seated cross-legged on mats at the hall’s edge and following the action of their fellow dojo members still in the fray. Because the number of competitors in the hall had thinned out, it was easier now to see what was going on. Sanji watched Zoro work his way through three different opponents in succession, before he too moved to the mats at the edge of the hall to await the outcome of other individual matches.

Yosaku leaned back in his seat, letting out a sigh. “Cool. Zoro’s through to the final round.”

“Mhm.” Sanji looked across the hall, to where other shinai were still playing out. “Who do y’reckon he’ll be up against?”

“Sakamura.” Yosaku answered without hesitation. “He’s the best one still fighting out there.”

“That guy from this morning?”

“Yeah.” Yosaku rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Should be a hella good match, between those two.”

Sanji remembered the intensity of the morning’s shiai, when Zoro had scored that first lightning point. And the pattern of bruises decorating his arm at lunch. “You think Zoro’ll beat him again?”

Yosaku shrugged. “Could go either way. Sakamura’s really good when he’s in the zone. Plus he’s pissed at losing this morning... That might give him an edge.”

 

 

Yosaku’s first prediction was correct: when the individual men’s matches reached their final stage, Sakamura was the one who stepped out onto the match court to face Zoro, a white ribbon once again knotted at his back. Sanji found himself leaning forwards in his seat as the two kendōka bowed and advanced into sonkyo.

This time there was no decisive early strike, no swift point scored. As the two fighters rose and moved together their shinai clashed, the sound of their impact echoing across the gym. They struck again and again, each man seeking an opening, feet shifting swiftly across the floor. And then Sakamura parried one of Zoro’s attacks, before continuing the movement by ramming the hilt of his shinai hard into Zoro’s men grille.

Sanji saw Zoro’s head jolt back from the blow, his feet stepping backwards swiftly to accommodate the impact, before resuming his stance with his shinai crossing the other man’s. “What the fuck! Is that allowed?”

Yosaku nodded, although he was pulling a face. “Yeah. Not pretty, but as long as you don’t actually punch someone the shinpan don’t usually call it.”

“Asshole.” Sanji scowled at the court.

“All’s fair in love and kendo, bro.” Yosaku gestured at his crutches.

 

 

From what Sanji could see, the shove to his head hadn’t affected Zoro’s game any. His focus on his opponent didn’t waver, his shinai blurring to meet Sakamura’s as both men continued to vie for dominance. As Sakamura pressed forwards, backing him into a corner of the court, Zoro fell back – then suddenly drove home his own attack, reversing their positions so that he was holding the centre and Sakamura had to turn to follow him. Their shinai touched, seeking an opening, and then Zoro moved forwards with a stamp of his foot on the floor and a flick downwards of both arms – and Sanji _saw_ it, clearly: Zoro’s shinai strike smartly against Sakamura’s right kote, before Zoro fell back with arms raised as the shinpan’s red flags lifted to signal his ippon.

“ _Score_.” Yosaku clapped hard, grinning.

 

 

Both kendōka returned to the centre of the court: when the action started again Sakamura moved forwards like a leaping tiger, showing his determination to turn the match around. His shinai swept down, switched direction, blocked Zoro’s attack; seemed to flow like water. The two kendōka closed in on each other, shinai crossing and holding, men grilles inches apart; then they were striking, moving, twisting, trying to find a way through. Sakamura did something too quick to see and then the shinpan raised their white flags: he had scored a point.

“Fuck – what happened?” Sanji blinked.

“Kote strike. Left wrist.” Yosaku was watching the shiai intently, a frown dug in between his brows.

 

 

Once more Zoro and Sakamura returned to the centre: once more their shinai lifted, then clashed together. Sanji found himself gritting his teeth, his eyes fixed on the action.

_C’mon, moss head. Finish this._

A swift exchange of blows and then an _Ohh_   from the spectators: Sakamura’s shinai had thrust through Zoro’s guard, sliding under the lower edge of his tsuki-dare and hitting the side of his neck. The shinpan’s flags stayed down but Sakamura backed off instantly. Zoro stepped to one side, nodding at the nearest shinpan’s inquiring look to indicate that he was okay to continue. Deliberately he reached up and settled his tsuki-dare back into place, before returning to the combat with Sakamura.

About a minute later a whistle blew: Yosaku gave a grunt. “Time’s up. Encho-sen... Extra time now. Whoever scores the next point wins.”

Sanji leaned forward. The two kendōka moved towards each other with fierce speed, shinai connecting so hard that the sound echoed round the gym like a whip crack. Sakamura drove Zoro backwards, both men travelling rapidly across the court: then Zoro shifted sideways and they were circling, vying for position, the tips of their shinai seeking contact, first one uppermost then the other. Sakamura struck out, his shinai a blur – and Zoro moved even faster, seeming to weave around the other man’s weapon with his own. There was the _smack_ of bamboo hitting the lacquer of Sakamura’s men and the red flags went up. Suddenly, with instant and enthusiastic applause from the spectators, it was over.

 

 

“Oh _yeah_...” Yosaku was clapping harder than anyone, a grin stretching across his face. “Awesome shiai.”

Sakamura and Zoro had bowed to each other; now they and the shinpan bowed to the officials sitting along the tables at one side of the gym. As the applause died down an official in a suit rose and began to make some announcements.

“What happens now?” Sanji looked at Zoro, who was walking to where the rest of his dojo teammates were waiting to congratulate him at the sidelines.

“Closing ceremony, and team photos and stuff like that.” Yosaku picked up his crutches. “Once they’re done with the announcements, we can head outside.”

“Great. I could use a cigarette.”

Across the gym Sanji saw Zoro slip off his kote, then his men and head cloth, before running his fingers through his sweaty hair until it stood up in dark green spikes. Johnny said something to him and Zoro grinned suddenly, the serious expression he was wearing falling away. Other teammates circled round, clapping him on the shoulders. Sanji watched this with a smile on his own face. Maybe it was sappy, but he felt a little possessive surge of pride looking at Zoro right at that moment. Recognition of the other man’s skill; seeing how he was valued by his fellow kendōka. And alongside that, a subtler feeling. Seeing that light in Zoro’s face.

 

 

The closing ceremony only lasted a few minutes. Once the tournament was officially over, spectators began coming down from the tiers of seats to congratulate or commiserate with their teams. Group photos began to be posed at the edges of the gym, dojo teammates slinging arms round each other’s shoulders, grinning at raised smartphones.

Yosaku and Sanji made their way to the Kogaku-Kan dojo team. Yosaku gave Johnny a slap on the back. “Unlucky, bro. You lost by a hair.”

“Seems like congratulations are in order, once again.” Sanji smiled at Zoro, his hands in his pockets. “Good match.”

“Thanks.” Zoro gave him a smile back.

“Although it looked at one point like that Sakamura guy thought he was in a boxing ring.”

Zoro laughed. “Yeah, well... heat of the moment, I guess. Not like it did him any good.”

“You need to do any more official stuff, like a winner’s lap of honour or anything?”

“No.” Zoro gestured towards the rest of his team. “Sensei’ll want to give us some feedback, but that won’t take long. Then I just need to shower and change and we’re good to go.”

“Great. Then I’ll see you outside the front of the gym, where we met this morning?”

“Yeah.” Zoro gave a nod.

 

 

Yosaku came with Sanji as far as the gym entrance: as they stepped outside, Sanji took out his cigarettes. There were a lot of kendo competitors and their families and supporters milling about just outside the doorway, and after glancing around Sanji decided to take his nicotine fix somewhere quieter. He gestured with his cigarette. “Uh, I’m just gonna find a discreet corner to smoke this in. Be back in a sec... You okay waiting here on your own for those two?”

“Sure, bro. No hurry.” Yosaku waved him away.

Sanji wandered around the corner of the gym, and down an alleyway that ran between it and the neighbouring building. A few hundred yards along a fire door had been propped open with a chair, light spilling out into the evening: as Sanji walked towards it a knot of kendo competitors came out, bags slung on their shoulders, deep in conversation as they headed past him. Evidently the side exit was a short cut from the gym locker rooms. Sanji stepped into the doorway and stuck his head through, looking around. There was a drinks vending machine to one side of the doorway, and a corridor stretching away on the other. Sanji came back out and considered the chair, before sitting down on it and taking out his lighter.

_Someone was nice enough to leave this chair here. No point letting it go to waste._

He lit up and breathed in, before letting smoke escape in a quiet stream from between his lips. After the action and noise of the kendo tournament, it felt pretty nice to just sit there in the peaceful early evening darkness with a cigarette for a few minutes. Not to mention, he was already pleasantly anticipating the rest of the night.

 

 

The squeak and clunk of a door opening and closing reached him from inside the building, followed by footsteps of a couple of people approaching down the corridor. Sanji tensed slightly, in the pre-emptive pose of all smokers: wondering if he was about to receive a tiresome lecture on polluting public spaces. But the footsteps paused inside without their owners coming into view and a moment later Sanji heard the clink of coins fed into the vending machine, the rumble and thud of a can dropping down. A voice said, “You wanna drink?”

“Yeah, get me a Sprite,” a second voice replied.

“What kind of a wusspants drink is that?”

“It’s fucking fluid, that’s all I care about.”

“Whatever.” The vending machine clunked again. “Here y’go.”

“Thanks. Holy shit...” The second voice broke into a long drawn-out groan. “Jesus, my entire body is one big fucking ache. That Roronoa guy is a seriously intense fighter.”

 

 

Outside the doorway, Sanji suddenly found himself listening a lot more closely. He heard a chuckle, followed by the first man’s voice. “Yeah. When I saw you were up as his opponent in the first round this afternoon, I was hoping you’d put your affairs in order.” He sounded amused.

“I’ve never seen anyone move that fast. Is he even human?”

“No-one’s ever got close enough to find out.” The first man assumed a mock-comforting tone. “But hey: you walked away afterwards. Count yourself lucky.”

“Fuck...” The second man let out another groan. “I never even heard of him before. How come he’s not some regional big-shot, if he’s that good?”

“Ahh, he only moved into this area sometime last year; or at least that’s the story I heard. He’s been competing round here for a little while... But if you mention his name online on the kendo forums, you’ll get a bunch of people replying who can personally vouch for the fact that he’s a tough motherfucker. The guy does not like to lose.”

“ _That_   I got for myself. Especially after watching him take out Sakamura in the final.” The second man sighed. “I don’t know which hurts more, my body or my ego. Losing so quick with my entire dojo looking on... That bastard made me feel about two inches tall out there.”

“Don’t take it personally. That’s what Roronoa does to anyone unlucky enough to go up against him.” There was a beat, then the first man spoke again, with a sly edge this time. “And maybe he was trying extra hard out there today... Seeing how his boyfriend was one of the spectators.”

 

 

There were a few moments of silence, before the second man answered disbelievingly. “I must’ve got hit harder on my men than I thought. For a second there I thought I heard you say ‘boyfriend’.”

“You heard right.” The first man sounded satisfied at being able to confirm this piece of news.

“The fuck... You’re shitting me. Are you telling me Roronoa is _gay?”_

“The guy’s as queer as a Mexican hatband. Word is he’s not shy about being out of the closet, either. You should’ve seen the way he and his sweetie were draped over each other in the cafeteria at lunchtime.”

“Okay, now I’m more worried about sharing a locker room with him than I am about ever facing him in a shiai again. That’s just... _wrong,_ on so many levels. You’re not fucking with me about this, are you? Because if you are...”

“I shit you not. Did you see the blonde guy in the front row of the bleachers, about halfway along? The one with the freaky eyebrows? That’s Roronoa’s piece of ass.”

“TMI, dude.” The second man made gagging noises. “He brought his frickin’ _boyfriend_   to a tournament? He’s got some balls.”

“Well, I guess blondie would know. Maybe we ought to ask him.”

 

 

Belly laughter. Followed by the second man’s voice. “Shit, if I’d known Roronoa was so in touch with his feminine side, maybe I would’ve stood up to him for longer.”

“Yeah. No need to guess who the top is in that relationship, huh? I’ll bet blondie has his work cut out.”

“No shit. Don’t knock it, though. I mean, if it turned Roronoa into a loveable pussycat, I’d think about sucking his dick myself.”

Laughter again. “You should tell him that.”

“Oh yeah, soon as I heal up. And once I’m packing something more serious than a shinai.”

Footsteps, and their laughter and voices took themselves slowly away down the corridor. There was the squeak and clunk of a distant door being opened and then swinging shut: then silence.

 

 

Sanji sat absolutely motionless on the chair, in the growing darkness. His cigarette smouldered forgotten between his fingertips. He only noticed it when he felt the sting of heat: looked down to see he’d clenched his hand into a fist, crushing the cigarette within it.

“ _Fuck._ ” His hand opened reflexively and he dropped his cigarette onto the ground. Stared at it lying on the tarmac, a couple of inches from the tip of his shoe. Felt everything in the world narrow down to a hot little core as if he was a failing star, collapsing in on itself under the weight of gravity.

_You fucking pieces of human waste._

The thought didn’t go anywhere near relieving what he felt. To go from the scene at the end of the tournament: Zoro winning, that light in his face. To this.

 

 

Sanji gripped his knees with both hands and breathed in and out, slowly.

_You do not have the option of going after those shitheads and kicking their tiny fucking brains in._

He wanted to. So much that his hands shook as they clenched on his jeans.

_Who the hell cares what a couple of crapfuckers like that think anyway._

It was about as effective as chanting _Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me_ , but he repeated the thought in his head. Because right now he needed to keep the red mist from coming down. This was a college campus and it was so not the fuck okay to be thinking about committing double homicide in front of numerous witnesses. However much he wanted to.

 

 

The words of the two kendōka rattled around in his brain, sharp-cornered and corrosive. He wanted to somehow get in there and take them out, delete them, rewrite what had just happened. But all he could do was stare at his hands gripping his jeans. And try not to think about whether what felt worst was the shit they’d talked about Zoro, or what they’d said about himself.

 _-_ _Did you see the blonde guy in the front row of the bleachers, about halfway along? The one with the freaky eyebrows? That’s Roronoa’s piece of ass._

His fingers dug into his thighs.

 _-_ _Shit, if I’d known Roronoa was so in touch with his feminine side, maybe I would’ve stood up to him for longer._

Sanji swallowed. Shut his eyes. Which didn’t help because he was just in a darker place and the words were still there.

 

 

“ – Yeah, I asked him, and he said carbon shinai last way longer but you pay so much more for them – oh, ‘scuse us!”

Sanji opened his eyes, as a woman’s voice and footsteps came from right behind him. Turning his head he saw two women carrying kendo bags stopped in the doorway, not wanting to push past him as he sat there. Automatically he got to his feet, somehow finding a smile. “Apologies, ladies.” He made an elegant gesture to usher them through.

“Thanks.” The leading woman, a red head who reminded him not a little of Nami, smiled back as she stepped past. Her companion, a striking-looking Japanese woman, gave a polite nod of her head as she followed. Then both kendōka were past and walking away, already picking up their conversation where they’d left off. Sanji watched them go, his smile dropping away. His gaze slowly descended to the ground, where his crushed cigarette lay. He let out a heavy sigh, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of smokes and lighter. Let himself sit heavily back down on the chair. Sparked up again and inhaled, watching smoke drift upwards to be lost in the darkness.

 

 

The interruption to his thoughts had pulled him back. Just the necessary civility of smiling and speaking to the two women had been enough to stop the rage that had begun flooding him.

He found himself wondering grimly whether the two assholes he’d overheard were representative of how most kendōka thought. He suddenly recalled Zoro’s comment, from when they’d been talking on New Year’s Eve.

 _-_ _I would’ve had to fight my way out of a lot more places, if it hadn’t been for the fact that most of them were freaking out about getting anywhere near me._

Sanji frowned, drawing hard on his cigarette.

_If Zoro has to deal with shit like that on a regular basis, that’s totally fucked._

Then Johnny and Yosaku’s grinning faces came into his mind: the way they’d been in the cafeteria at lunch.

_\- It’s great you and Zoro got together._

Sanji took a deep breath. Slowly released it. Sat there and smoked his cigarette, feeling the chill of the winter evening starting to reach him.

 

 

 

 

The gym’s locker rooms had been designed to cope with visiting teams as well as home athletes, but even so there were a lot of kendōka using them. After speaking with Takahashi, Zoro had to wait for a shower to become free. When he finally emerged there were only a handful of competitors left.

Johnny sat on one of the benches, fastening up his kendo bag: he glanced up when Zoro stepped across to his locker. “Hey, bro. Wondered where you’d got to. I was about to send out a search party.”

Zoro opened his locker. His reputation for having an awesome ability to get lost never ceased to be a source of amusement to everyone who knew him, much to his annoyance. “I was talking with Takahashi sensei.”

“Thought maybe you’d wound up in the women’s locker room by mistake again.” Johnny grinned.

“That only happened once.” Zoro began towelling himself dry.

“Yeah, but it’s become legend.” Johnny cinched the strap that connected his shinai case to his bag. “You and Sanji coming for a beer with the guys from the dojo?”

“No... We’re going to go grab some food.” Zoro reached for his deodorant. “Maybe some other time.”

“Okay, bro.” Johnny nodded. There was a small pause, before he added, “Sanji seems a nice guy.”

“Yeah.” Zoro donned his pants, picked up his shirt. “He is.”

 

 

“He was telling me and Yosaku that he does savate.” Johnny leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, a sly grin coming onto his face. “Also that he took you down sparring last weekend.”

Zoro finished buttoning his shirt and shrugged on his jacket. “Yeah, well... He got lucky.”

Johnny chuckled. “The two of you seem pretty well suited.” At Zoro’s look, Johnny made a gesture with one hand. “You both like martial arts, anyway. And it sounds like he can give as good as he gets.”

“He’s pretty strong,” Zoro conceded, taking his kendo bag out of his locker.

“Nice catch, bro.” Johnny stood up, hefting his own bag onto his shoulder. “Although, just one thing...”

“Yeah?” Zoro pushed the locker room door open, Johnny following behind him.

“Those eyebrows. What’s with that?”

“Ask him.”

“And get a free savate lesson? No thanks, bro.”

 

 

When they emerged from the gym exit, they spotted Yosaku almost at once standing a few yards away, on his own. He raised a hand. “Hey, guys. Over here.”

The two kendōka walked over to him. Zoro looked around, frowning slightly. “Where’s Sanji?”

“He just went to have a smoke. Said he wouldn’t be long... Eh, see, here he comes.” Yosaku pointed across the space.

Zoro turned and saw Sanji walking from the corner of the building, his hands in his pockets. His gaze was directed down at the ground, a slight frown on his face: a lit cigarette slanted between his lips.

 

 

“Oi, cook!” Zoro called across the space and Sanji looked up, before crossing to where they were stood waiting. He nodded at Yosaku and Johnny, before glancing at Zoro. “Sorry. You been waiting long?”

“No, just got here.” There seemed something slightly off about the chef, a flatness in his voice. “You okay to go?”

“Sure.” Sanji brought a smile onto his face after a half-second’s pause, before looking at Yosaku and Johnny. “You guys coming with?”

They both shook their heads. “Nah, we’re going to go sink a few beers. A bunch of guys from the tournament are heading to a bar near here, we’ll catch up with them.” Johnny gestured towards a few kendōka who were still exiting the gym. “Being as we’re the winning team and all, should be good for a few drinks.”

 

 

Sanji looked at Zoro. “You don’t want to go and celebrate?”

“I can drink with those guys any time.” Zoro was still getting that slight vibe off the chef, that all was not right with the world. “Unless you’d rather go for a drink before we go for a meal.”

“No. Let’s go eat.” Sanji took a pull on his cigarette, and gave Yosaku and Johnny another smile. “Thanks for today... See you guys again sometime, yeah? And congratulations on your team’s win.”

“Thanks, bro. Nice meeting you.” Yosaku shook the chef’s hand, Johnny following suit before glancing at Zoro. “See you at practice during the week?”

“Sure.” Zoro clapped Yosaku on the shoulder, and exchanged a high five with Johnny. “Good work in there today.”

“We’re the dream team - right, bro?” Johnny winked, before turning away with Yosaku. “See you next week.”

 

 

Zoro watched them go, then looked at Sanji. “So... Ready to go?”

Sanji had also been watching Yosaku and Johnny depart. Now his gaze returned; he gave Zoro a nod. “Yeah, that’s the plan. Where did you choose for us to eat?”

“Wait and see.” At the chef’s raised eyebrow, Zoro smiled. “You kept me in the dark last time. Now it’s my turn.”

“Please tell me we’re not just eating in that cafeteria here on campus.”

“Give me some credit, curly brow. No: I know somewhere not too far away, we can walk it from here.”

“Okay. Good.” Sanji nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

 

 

Zoro settled his kendo bag more comfortably on his shoulder, and started to walk. Sanji fell into step beside him as they crossed the campus.

“What did you make of the tournament?” Zoro wondered if the explanation for the chef’s apparently subdued mood might be his having had to endure a day of watching a sport he wasn’t familiar with... Or too enthused about.

Sanji appeared to consider for a moment. Removing his cigarette from his mouth, he released a stream of smoke before giving a nod. “Interesting.”

This was a word that Sanji used a lot, Zoro noticed. He wondered what exactly it meant, in this context. “So you weren’t bored, then?”

“No. It was kind of cool, actually.” Sanji looked at him. “I see why you’re so into it, now.”

 

 

A slight tension that he hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding released: Zoro smiled, slowly. “Yeah?”

Sanji nodded. “Sure. It’s pretty impressive. All the different elements: the gear you have to wear, the rules about how you can fight, the bowing, all the ritualised stuff... It’s almost like watching theatre instead fighting. Or dance, something like that.”

Zoro considered this. “With the big difference that in theatre or dance no-one’s trying to take your head off.”

“Depends on the show.” Sanji grinned.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. Relax, moss head, I’m not dissing kendo. Or your manly warrior spirit. Just, that’s how I saw it.”

“Did Yosaku explain stuff?”

“Yeah, he was great, and it was useful having a friendly kendo translator to sit with. And I didn’t ask him too many stupid questions and reveal my awesome ignorance.” Sanji smiled again. “He’s a nice guy. Johnny too.”

“Yeah. They are.”

“You known them long?”

“Just since I moved here and joined the Kogaku-Kan dojo. We kind of hit it off... They clown around sometimes, but they’re okay.”

 

 

Their route had brought them to the edge of the campus, and now they were heading into the city beyond. The cold evening and the fact that it was a Sunday had left the streets largely empty of people, so they were able to stride out at a good pace. It felt good to Zoro, to be walking along with Sanji. To have the whole evening ahead to spend with the chef... Not to mention the night.

Sanji spoke up, as they paused on a kerb before crossing the street. “How far did you say this place was we’re eating at, again?”

“Not far.”

“So at what point should I start worrying if we’re still walking and haven’t reached it? Half an hour?”

Zoro gave the chef a look. “I know how to get there.”

“Mm-hmm.” Sanji’s response was neutral. The slight smile that came onto his face was not. Zoro turned his gaze firmly onto the way ahead.

 

 

It was about ten minutes later when they rounded a corner and the restaurant sign Zoro had been aiming for hove into view. He felt a sense of satisfaction, and gestured at it with his thumb. “Okay, cook. Told you I knew where I was going.”

“I’m impressed. And relieved.” Sanji smirked. “And I see we’re eating Japanese.”

“Yeah. You okay with that?”

“Absolutely. Sounds good.”

The restaurant sign was at the head of a flight of steps, descending to a basement. Zoro led the way: once they were inside he saw Sanji take a look around at the basic decor. At the three long tables that filled the small space, the white walls with a few framed Japanese prints. The counter that ran along one side of the room, where a couple of customers were seated on stools eating their meals. For a moment Zoro wondered if he’d made the right choice. Sanji was a chef, and a good one: from what Zoro could tell, he was used to working and presumably eating in some pretty ritzy places. The little basement Japanese eatery suddenly seemed on the shabby side. “You want to sit at a table, or over at the counter?”

Sanji nodded towards one of the tables. “We can talk better at a table.”

Once they had sat down, a waitress came over and presented them with laminated menus, taking their drinks order and leaving them to it. As she walked briskly away to attend to some other customers on a neighbouring table, Sanji picked up the menu and began to study it. After a few seconds he noticed Zoro watching him. “What?”

“I know this place doesn’t look like much.” Zoro nodded towards the few other diners; the basic furnishings. “But the food’s really good.”

 

 

Sanji gave him a quizzical look. “Yeah... Why wouldn’t it be? Great food doesn’t necessarily come with upmarket decor. If somewhere spends more on the fixtures and fittings than it does on the food, that’s not a place I’d want to eat a meal in.” He gave the menu a final look over, then laid it on the table. “What do you recommend?”

Zoro frowned. “You’re a chef, and you’re asking me what to eat?”

“You chose this place. You’ve eaten here before.” Sanji gestured expansively. “Tell me what’s good, on the menu.”

“Have you eaten much Japanese food?”

“Some. Enough to know that I like it.”

“Anything you _don’t_   like?”

“Not so far.” Sanji tapped the menu with one finger. “What do you usually eat, when you come here?”

“Depends how hungry I am. Noodles, usually... Maybe some tempura, yaki-gyoza, whatever. It’s all good.”

Sanji gave a considering nod, before picking up the menu again and running his gaze down it. “Hmm. Shall we get some sides to share, as well as a main dish each?”

“Sure.” Zoro had definitely worked up an appetite with his exertions at the tournament.

 

 

The waitress approached their table, setting down their drinks. “One green tea, one Asahi beer. Are you ready to order?”

“Thank you.” Sanji gave her a warm smile. “Yes, I think we are. I’d like the kitsune soba, please.”

The waitress noted this down, then looked questioningly at Zoro. He said, “I’ll have the miso pork ramen with yaki-gyoza.”

“And could we have a couple of sides with that too, miss?” Sanji slid one finger down the menu. “Let’s see... Spinach ohitashi... And some tsukemono.” He gave Zoro a quick enquiring look. “Anything else you want?”

Zoro shook his head. Sanji turned his gaze back to the waitress, with another friendly smile. “That’s everything, thank you.”

She nodded; read back their orders from her notepad; then departed towards the kitchen. Sanji watched her go, still smiling. “She’s pretty.”

 

 

Zoro didn’t want the chef appreciating women at that particular moment. He grunted, and Sanji turned his attention back to their table. “What’s the matter, moss head? Low blood sugar making you surly?”

“Nothing’s the matter.” Zoro picked up his beer and took a swallow: enjoyed the way its coolness tracked down his throat.

Sanji also picked up his drink, blowing on the tea gently. “You know, you have crap manners. Didn’t anyone ever teach you to say please and thank you? Especially to a lady.”

“Sorry if my lack of refinement offends you.” Though Zoro wasn’t sorry, particularly. Sanji had been laying on the charm with the waitress enough to cover the both of them.

“It doesn’t cost anything to be pleasant. If you work in the restaurant industry, getting a smile from a customer can considerably improve your day.” Sanji regarded him steadily. “Believe me.”

“Okay.” Zoro was willing to concede that one, as it was undeniably Sanji’s field of expertise. “Point taken.”

 

 

Sanji acknowledged his reply with a nod, before lifting his cup of tea towards the other man. “Kanpai.” A smile returned to his face.

Zoro had taken a sip already from his beer glass: he lifted it and touched its rim to the chef’s cup, echoing the toast. “Kanpai.” He made as if to replace his glass on the table – but Sanji grimaced.

“Ahh, no! Don’t put it down! You always have to drink _after_ making a toast. Otherwise it’s bad luck.”

Raising an eyebrow, Zoro took another sip of his beer before setting it down. Sanji did the same with his tea. Resting his elbows on the table, Zoro asked, “Is there some kind of secret chefs’ code, with all these weird superstitions in it?”

“Etiquette and customs aren’t superstitions, moss brain - they’re the grease that keeps polite society functioning. Otherwise we’re just hairless monkeys with evolved language skills, competing with each other for food and territory.” Sanji gestured at Zoro’s kendo bag, which he’d placed on the floor next to him. “And fighting each other for a better place in the pecking order.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.” Zoro generally found that all the overly polite dancing about that most people did took up energy better used for other things. He didn’t have a problem with people being direct.

 

 

Sanji regarded him, one of his spiralled eyebrows cocking upwards. “You have a different theory?”

“Never thought about it much.” Zoro shrugged. “I guess it’s just habits handed down, isn’t it? The way people are brought up, whatever.”

“You think that people can’t change?”

Zoro frowned slightly. He took another sip of beer before answering. “I didn’t say that. And yeah... I think that people can change. If they want to badly enough.”

Sanji nodded, his gaze still on Zoro. “Mmm. If life hands you enough reasons to do it.” There was a beat of silence; then the chef’s smile returned. “My old man was the one who taught me the whole restaurant etiquette thing, being polite to customers, all that crap. I thought it was total bullshit when he first started trying to din it into me. When I first started living with Zeff I was pretty wild. I’d been living in care homes and foster families for a couple of years, growing up alongside a random pack of other brats, so good table manners weren’t high on anyone’s agenda. Plus I could curse like a sailor and fight like a cornered alley cat.”

Zoro smiled too. “Sounds like you were a handful.”

Sanji nodded. “Yeah. But Zeff was totally up to the job. Not that it was easy: we went through a lot of crockery before I learned that being an angry little shit is not the best way to approach life. Not to mention I think we drove out at least one set of neighbours with all the screaming we did at each other.”

 

 

Zoro found himself wondering if Zeff was as formidable a character as Sanji’s descriptions made him sound. Not to mention, wanting to know how Sanji had wound up in a care home in the first place. “So your old man is the one who taught you all this stuff. Etiquette, whatever.”

“Pretty much. And he taught me a lot in the kitchen, too.”

“You said you’d worked with him in his restaurant for a while... What was that like? I mean, being the boss’s son and all.”

“You mean, did I benefit from being the prodigal?” Sanji snorted. “I wish. I got yelled at and cuffed upside the head like everyone else in there. More, if anything: Zeff knew his other workers could walk out if they got really pissed at him. I didn’t have that option.”

 

 

The waitress’s footstep approaching their table made them both look round: she placed their dishes of food in front of them, before giving them both a smile. “Anything else I can get for you?”

Sanji looked meaningfully at Zoro. Who realised he was being given a cue. “Uh, no. Thank you.” He returned her smile.

The waitress nodded. “Enjoy your meal.” Then she moved away.

Sanji gave Zoro a grin. “There. It wasn’t so painful being an actual civil human being, was it?”

Zoro let out a breath. “Eat your food, curly brow.”

 

 

It was a good meal. Sanji seemed to like his soba; and when he remarked that Zoro’s yaki-gyoza dumplings reminded him of Polish pierogi, Zoro unceremoniously dumped a couple on the chef’s plate for him to try. As they ate they talked about how their respective weeks had gone, Sanji elaborating on the hellish few days he’d had in the understaffed hotel kitchen. “It’s weird, but I’d almost forgotten how crazy it can get in a pro kitchen. It’s been months since I worked more than a couple of days in one.”

“It likely to get any better next week?”

“Depends on whether Leon gets his ass back in to work. I don’t see hotel management springing for a replacement chef unless one of us drops dead of a coronary and falls face down on the grill.”

“They likely to ask you to work extra hours?”

“I don’t know. But if they do, the answer’s going to be no.” Sanji propped one elbow on the table. “I need my time off for working on setting up my business.”

“Where are you at with that?”

 

 

Sanji gave a wry smile. “At the extremely hypothetical stage.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, I have a business plan which reads like a work of fiction, costing projections with numbers ending in way too many zeroes, and a crazy idea that I want to cook stuff and sell it to people. So it’s going well.”

Zoro smiled too. “Gotta start somewhere.”

“Absolutely.” Sanji let out a sigh. “Feels like a long way to go, though.”

“What kind of cooking business are you thinking of doing?”

“At first I thought catering would be the simplest. Y’know, food for private parties and functions, stuff like that. But after I looked into it I realised there was a lot of competition... Plus I figured it takes a while to build up customers for that kind of business. So I thought I’d go for a street food outlet, something small where I can handle the customers on my own. I’d just be making and selling the food for people to take away, without the hassle of hiring staff for bussing tables and all that less-than-thrilling crap.”

Zoro nodded. “Sounds workable. Got a name for it?”

“Jesus, no.” Sanji pulled a face. “I’ve written a list of names and scrubbed out every single one. They either sounded lame, or it turned out someone else was already using them, or they just didn’t look like something you’d connect with food.”

“They can’t all be that bad.”

Sanji regarded him steadily. “ ‘Galley In The Alley’?”

Zoro had to concede that one. “Uh, yeah, that sucks.”

 

 

Sanji acknowledged this with a nod. “I’d really drunk a _lot_ of coffee the night I came up with that one.”

“You’ll think of something. It’s only a name, anyhow. The food’s going to be more important than what you call the place.”

“I hope so. At this rate I’ll be going with ‘Sanji’s Eats’.” The chef grimaced.

Zoro rested his folded arms on the table. “You worry too much.”

“Well, yeah: it’s kind of a big deal to me, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I noticed. But it sounds like you’ve been working on it all week. So maybe you could take a break from worrying about it now.”

 

 

Sanji’s gaze rested on him. “Sounds good. How about you distract me.”

Zoro raised one eyebrow. “By doing what?”

“I have a few ideas, but they involve us leaving this restaurant first.”

Zoro thought this sounded promising. “And then what?”

“That depends. Did you want to go for a drink somewhere?”

Zoro smiled. “We could. Or we could go back to my place. If you want.”

Sanji smiled too, slowly. “Your place sounds good.”

Suddenly Zoro felt an urgency to catch the waitress’s eye so they could pay the cheque.

 

 

Back outside on the street, Zoro led the way. “We can catch a bus from the next block.”

“Great.” Sanji had fallen into step alongside him, a cigarette already lit and between his lips. “Is your roomie going be home?”

“Luffy? No. He was planning to hang with a friend of ours. He probably won’t be back till late. Maybe not till tomorrow.”

“Does he ever come to watch your kendo matches?”

“No... At least, not often.” Zoro remembered the last time Luffy had come along. “He, uh, gets kind of carried away when he’s spectating.”

“You mean he cheers you on?”

“Something like that.” Luffy’s yells of _Kick his ass, Zoro!!_  reverberated in Zoro’s memory.

“Ah. Big no-no according to kendo etiquette.” Sanji blew out a stream of smoke. “Yosaku told me that.”

“It’s considered disrespectful, in kendo tradition.”

 

 

Sanji nodded at this. “It does seem like a sport that’s big on tradition.”

“I guess.”

“Is that what drew you to it? Like, getting back to your Japanese heritage?”

Zoro shrugged. “I was born here. I speak and read Japanese; but it’s not a big thing for me. What drew me to kendo was finding out I was good at it. It’s not like there was a whole lot else I was excelling at, after dropping out of school.”

Sanji looked at him. “You didn’t finish high school?”

“No.” Zoro felt the usual defences go up inside him as he answered this. “I took some phys ed and coaching classes in community college later on. Enough to qualify as a personal trainer.”

“That must’ve taken some motivation. Kudos,” Sanji said simply.

“I wanted to be able to get a decent job. One that wasn’t about stacking shelves or making deliveries.” Zoro felt the reflex defensiveness fade slightly. “It was Koshiro who talked me into doing it. He told me I could make something of myself.”

“Well, he was right.” Sanji nodded. “You’ve got a good job now. Not to mention, you turned out to be a pretty mean kendo fighter. You ever think of competing regionally?”

“I think about it.” Zoro paused. “But competing costs money. What I earn at the gym covers the basics, but if I started entering regional tournaments that’s a whole other league. Plus I’d have to take more time off work.”

“Wouldn’t you get prize money, for winning kendo tournaments?”

Zoro smiled mirthlessly. “No. That’s not how the sport’s set up.”

“Pfffff.” Sanji exhaled smoke. “Maybe you should switch to sumo.”

“Like fuck.”

“Some of those guys are like sports superstars, aren’t they? Earning serious money.”

“And dropping dead of cardiac arrest in their thirties.”

 

 

Sanji snorted. “Okay. You’ve dedicated your life to kendo. I get it.” After a moment, he continued. “And I get that it isn’t the cheapest martial art to be into. With savate all you need to worry about is getting a decent pair of boots and gloves. But for kendo you’ve got all that gear: your shinai, all your bōgu... Not to mention the clothes. It must add up.”

“Yeah, it does. And you have to bring at least two shinai when you’re competing, in case one breaks.”

“Does your dojo help you out with any of that?”

“When you’re starting out, you can usually borrow stuff. But once you start fighting seriously, you need to buy your own gear. And good quality, if you can afford it. If you buy cheap bōgu it doesn’t protect you properly, you get more injuries.”

“How much does it cost?”

“For a decent set of bōgu? Minimum four hundred dollars. Top end, more like a thousand.” Sanji whistled, and Zoro nodded. “A good shinai costs about a hundred bucks, and I go through half a dozen in a year. Then you need to buy your keikogi and hakama, that’s another hundred dollars or so. You need at least a couple of those.”

 

 

“No shit.” Sanji shook his head. “That’s a hell of a price tag for something that looks like a set of baggy black pajamas.”

“I wear a synthetic uniform for practice, it’s cheaper and easier to look after. But for competing you have to wear the traditional clothing: cotton, heavier than for practice. And it’s coloured with a traditional dye, aizome. It’s a pain in the ass... It comes out on your skin when you sweat. Sometimes you wind up dyed blue afterwards.”

Sanji began to laugh. “For real? You go blue? You must look like that guy out of Avatar.”

Zoro grunted. “It’s always a big laugh when newbies don’t realise they should’ve washed their new keikogi before wearing it in a match. They soon wise up in the locker room afterwards, when they look in the mirror and see a smurf staring back at them.”

Sanji was still chuckling. “It’s a whole other world. I had no idea kendo was such a source of entertainment.”

 

 

Zoro wasn’t sure he liked the chef thinking of kendo that way. “That’s not why people become kendōka. For entertainment.”

Sanji looked at him. “Ah... Now I’ve pissed you off.”

Zoro shrugged slightly. “You don’t play around when you’re standing out there holding your shinai. If you did, someone would make you regret it pretty quick.”

“I bet.”

 

 

They were both quiet for a few moments, walking along the street. At last Sanji spoke again. “For the record... You did look like you knew what you were doing. Out there today.”

“Is that you being complimentary, cook?” Zoro queried sardonically. “I’m overwhelmed.”

“Yeah well, bear in mind I’m a total novice to this whole kendo thing. I have no idea if you’re actually any good, or if it was just that your opponents sucked and you had a lucky day.” Sanji smirked as he said this.

Zoro breathed out, slowly. “Luck wasn’t involved, curly brow.”

 

 

They had reached the bus stop: Sanji looked at it, before turning back to Zoro with that deeply annoying smile still on his face. “Whatever. I’m indebted to you for opening my eyes to the esoteric world of kendo.”

Zoro narrowed his eyes. “Watching kendo _turns you on?”_

Sanji laughed again and almost choked on his cigarette. “I said ‘esoteric’, moss brain – not ‘erotic’. As in, enigmatic. Complex.” Zoro said nothing, and Sanji gestured with one hand. “Like, weird, but in a good way.”

Zoro leaned his shoulder against the bus stop. “You’d be the expert on that.”

“You wound me.” Sanji took a last pull on his cigarette, before flicking the butt into the gutter. “Though that was one hell of a Freudian linguistic slip. Seriously, you’re telling me that no-one’s ever pointed out kendo’s homoerotic possibilities to you before?”

“It’s not the first thing that usually comes to most people’s minds.”

“Seriously? All that thrusting... And sweating... And making loud noises...” Sanji sounded like he was drifting off into a reverie.

“Does everything remind you of sex, cook?”

“You have a problem with that?”

Zoro found himself smiling. “Not entirely.”

Sanji met his gaze. “Good.”

 

 

 

 

 

They only had to wait a little while for the bus, then it was a short walk from the end of the ride to Zoro’s apartment block on Powell Street. As they covered the distance Sanji could almost feel the energy crackling between them: the desire that had been building since he’d watched Zoro fight.

All the time they’d been verbally sparring, he’d wanted to push, to see what Zoro would do. How he’d react. And he had felt the other man bite, those dark eyes darken just a little more. That spark just under the surface. Held back, controlled.

_I want to make you lose control._

Sanji remembered how it had felt, last time. Zoro underneath him, fingers gripping bruisingly tight, head thrown back.

_\- Oh fuck       Harder_

 

 

“This is it.” Zoro’s words snapped Sanji out of his inner world. He paused on the sidewalk, looking around. They were standing by an entrance lobby, inadequately lit by an overhead lamp. Zoro dug in his pocket before pulling out a key which he stuck into the lock of a scuffed door in front of them. Once it was open he stepped through, holding the heavy door with one hand to allow Sanji access. “Our place is on the top floor.”

As they climbed the stairs a light blinked on and off, making the stairwell flicker like an old movie. The dingy paintwork on the walls was as scuffed as the front door had been: there wasn’t exactly a shortage of graffiti either. Sanji didn’t live in an upmarket part of town, but Zoro’s apartment block had definitely seen better days.

They reached the top floor and Zoro led the way along a corridor, passing a few doors before stopping outside one which he unlocked and nudged open with his shoulder. “Come on in.”

Sanji followed the other man. For a moment they stood in darkness, then a light flicked on, illuminating a narrow hallway. Zoro began unfastening his coat, already moving to another door which evidently gave on to the rest of the apartment. As he headed away he said over one shoulder, “I’m gonna get a beer from the fridge. You want one?”

“You got any wine?” Sanji followed after him, pausing briefly to take off his coat and shoes in the hallway.

“No. Plenty of beer though.” Zoro’s voice came from a little way away now: Sanji had stepped through into what must be the living room, where a big threadbare couch and sagging armchair sat in formation in front of a television and a low scarred coffee table. Sanji glanced around, before raising his voice to reach wherever Zoro had disappeared to. “Uh, okay. Yeah, a beer’s fine. Thanks.”

 

 

Zoro emerged from one of the two doorways that led off the living room, holding two opened bottles of beer. He extended one towards the chef: Sanji took it. Zoro lifted his own bottle and chinked it lightly against the chef’s, before taking a swig. “Well, this it. Home sweet home.”

Sanji looked around the room, taking in the fraying carpet, the off-white walls, and a heap of what appeared to be comic books stacked precariously in one corner with a single basketball sneaker perched on top. “Yeah... Cosy.”

 “Right.” Zoro also looked at the stack. “Those’re Luffy’s. He leaves his shit laying all over the place.”

“Well, I guessed they weren’t yours.” Sanji gestured at the sneaker. “You have bigger feet than that. Plus I didn’t have you pegged as the literary type.”

Zoro snorted. “I read. Just not stuff like that.”

 

 

Sanji looked at the wall behind the couch, which was decorated with a large poster of a colourfully rendered old fashioned sailing ship. It bore a Jolly Roger atop its mast and was surging through the waves of an ocean that sported not only assorted sea life but also mythical creatures: mermaids, sea monsters, even something that looked like a kraken. Across the bottom of the poster in large block capitals were the words _GOING MERRY_ , while underneath smaller letters proclaimed, _Pirates... Don’t Play By The Rules._

Sanji raised an eyebrow. “I would also never have guessed you were a secret Pirates Of The Caribbean fan.”

Zoro glanced at the poster. “That’s the game Luffy and Usopp put together, that I told you about.” At Sanji’s slight frown of puzzlement, he nodded towards the poster. “New Year’s Eve. When you asked me what Luffy did for a living. He and Usopp created this crazy online game where players are pirates going after treasure. It really took off, those guys make a pretty okay income from it at the moment. Don’t know how long it’ll last... Till the next fad kicks in, I guess.”

Sanji regarded the poster. “I like the artwork.”

“That’s Usopp’s. Luffy comes up with all the crazy ideas, and Usopp draws them. Seems to work out okay.” When Sanji returned his gaze to the other man, Zoro gestured at the doorway opposite. “I need to sort out my kendo stuff. You want to hang in here, or come on through?”

For an answer, Sanji moved towards the doorway. “Lead on.”

 

 

The door opened onto another narrow hallway. Zoro opened a door on the right, flicking on a light switch inside, before stepping back into the hallway. “My room. I’ll just ditch this stuff, won’t be long.” He moved past Sanji, back the way they’d come.

Taking this as an invite Sanji entered the room on the right, coming to a stop a couple of paces inside. Standing there he looked around, taking in the space.

The first thing that struck him was how little in the way of personal belongings there was in there. A bed; a small desk, with a laptop on it; a battered closet and set of drawers. A single shelf fixed on the wall above the desk, filled with books. Sanji moved over and scanned the titles: most seemed to be about martial arts, or Zen Buddhism. A couple bore Japanese characters on their spines.

His gaze travelled down to the desk, taking in a phone dock and charger plugged into some small speakers. And standing next to that on the desk a photo frame, angled slightly away so that the ceiling light reflected off its glass, obscuring the image within.

Curious, Sanji reached down and picked up the frame, tilting it so he could see. It was a snapshot of three people. A younger Zoro and a teenaged Japanese girl, both wearing kendo uniforms, grinning towards the camera. And slightly behind them both an older Japanese man, also wearing kendo gear, a quiet smile on his face.

 

 

Sanji gazed at the image for a long moment. The girl had red dyed hair, and a challenging glint in her grin that was mirrored in the face of Zoro standing next to her. Her elbow rested on his shoulder, in a gesture of confident familiarity: and her features echoed the older man’s standing behind them.

_Kuina?_

Sanji studied the photo for a few seconds more, then set it gently back on the desk.

“She’d just won the Junior Women’s Individual final.” Zoro’s voice came from close behind him and Sanji looked quickly round. The other man stood still, also regarding the photo. “I was runner-up in the Junior Men’s. She ragged on me about that for weeks.”

Sanji wasn’t exactly sure what to say. “Is that Koshiro in the photo too?”

“Yeah.” Zoro lifted his beer to his mouth and took a swallow.

Sanji nodded slowly. “Good picture of the three of you.”

Zoro nodded too. “I’m glad I kept it. I almost tossed it a while back, when I... got rid of a bunch of other stuff.” A muscle in his jaw tensed slightly.

“Good memories are worth keeping.”

A smile eased some of the tension out of Zoro’s face. “Yeah. They are.”

 

 

Sanji turned away from the desk, taking a sip of his own beer. His gaze travelled across the room... And fell on something he hadn’t noticed at first, on the wall opposite. “Holy shit. Is that an actual sword?”

Zoro looked across too. “Yeah. A katana.”

Sanji stepped up to the wall, examining the Japanese sword. It lay across two simple wooden brackets, the white lacquered sheath matched by a white and black handle. “That’s a nice piece of work. You ever use it?”

“For iaido.” Zoro came to stand next to him. “Though I don’t have time to do much iaido any more... Mostly these days I concentrate on kendo.”

“Can I see it?”

 

 

Wordlessly Zoro reached out and took the katana down. Slowly he drew the blade from its sheath, then lifted the sword vertically between them, tilting it so that light ran along its edge. Sanji looked along to the tip, then back down to the hilt. “Hmm... Good steel.”

“You know much about swords?”

Sanji shrugged. “Knives, I do. Any good chef ought to.”

Looking at the katana himself, Zoro raised an eyebrow slightly. “Not exactly the same thing.”

Sanji felt slightly piqued by the comment. “What, because yours is bigger than mine? Size isn’t everything, moss head.”

 

 

Zoro brought the tip of the katana back to the sheath, and smoothly slid the sword back inside. “Using a katana isn’t like wielding a carving knife, cook.”

“Well, yeah: because when you’re swinging a sword about you’re usually aiming to cause damage, whereas a chef uses his knife skills to actually _create_ something.”

The other man looked sideways at him, one corner of his mouth lifting. “So, with your awesome knife-wielding powers can you _create_ a blooming onion? Y’know, one of those deep-fried ones?”

“Fuck you.” Sanji folded his arms. “I’m a professional chef. Any time you want to see me demonstrate my knife skills, I’m happy to oblige.”

Zoro’s smile grew a little, but he gave a half-shake of his head. “I’ll take your word for it.” Lifting the katana he replaced it on its brackets on the wall, handling the katana precisely. Almost reverently, Sanji thought. As Zoro stepped back from the wall, the chef said, “So if a bamboo shinai costs a hundred bucks, I’m almost afraid to ask how much that sword set you back.”

 

 

Zoro didn’t answer for a moment. He turned away, moving to the desk; where he placed his phone in the dock and began scrolling on it: selected something. Music began to play quietly. “I didn’t buy it.”

“Oh. It was gift from someone?” That seemed unlikely to Sanji. _Who gives someone a samurai sword as a present?_

“...Yeah.” Zoro still had his back to the chef. His answer was in a low voice, almost too low to be heard over the music. “Koshiro gave it to me.”

“Your old sensei?” Sanji sat down on Zoro’s bed, hoping the other man would quit fiddling with the music and come and join him. “That’s pretty generous.”

“I asked him if I could have it.” Zoro turned back to face Sanji. “It was Kuina’s sword.”

 

 

Sanji blinked. “Kuina’s?”

 “She used it for iaido. It’s a shinshinto katana, an heirloom handed down in her family.” Zoro looked at the katana. “But Koshiro gave it to me.”

Sanji wasn’t sure what to think. The expression on Zoro’s face was difficult to read. “You wanted something to remember her by?”

Zoro’s mouth tightened slightly. “Something like that.”

 

 

There was a long moment of quiet. Then Zoro turned away from the katana, the distant expression falling away as he looked at the chef. He gave a brief smile, before lifting his bottle of beer to his lips and taking a swallow. “Hah... Finished.” He upended the bottle, before setting it down empty on the nearby chest of drawers. “You want another?”

“No, I’m good.” Sanji still had half of his beer left; not that he cared, he wasn’t planning to finish it. He half expected the other man to head back to the kitchen to fetch another beer for himself, but instead Zoro moved to the edge of the bed and sat down on it too, next to the chef. He leaned back on his elbows, letting out a short sigh. “Man, it’s really fucking good not to have to go to work tomorrow. I’m beat.”

Sanji leant back too, turning sideways to prop himself facing the other man. “After watching you compete today, I’m not surprised.”

Zoro gave slight shake of his head. “The tournament was okay. Sometimes you sweat blood out there, but today wasn’t so bad.”

 

 

Sanji reached out towards the other man’s neck: touched his fingers to the skin a couple of inches below Zoro’s chin. “You looked in the mirror?”

Zoro didn’t move under the chef’s touch. “Bruise, huh?”

“Looks like it’s going to be bad one.”

“Fucking Sakamura.” Zoro’s tone showed that he wasn’t particularly bothered. “Shithead needs to learn how to land a men strike.”

Sanji felt the steady rhythm of Zoro’s pulse under his fingertips. He took his hand away. “With your arm, you’ve got a matching set.”

“No pain, no gain.” Zoro smiled.

“Masochist.” Sanji smiled too. “I knew you were getting off on it.”

 

 

Zoro leaned in and suddenly Sanji found the other man’s mouth on his, Zoro’s hand lifting to the back of his neck and drawing them together. A kiss that deepened quickly, demanding, so that Sanji had to bring up his own hand and catch hold of Zoro’s waist, steadying himself. Not pulling back.

Zoro shifted against him, their bodies aligning. Sanji felt the warmth of the other man’s body, the hunger in Zoro’s mouth. And _fuck,_ did it feel good. Feeling that wanting.

Zoro’s hand caressed the back of his neck; then eased off a little, and the other man drew back just enough to break their kiss. His eyes met the chef’s briefly before he leaned in again, this time bending his head down until his mouth touched Sanji’s neck: lips drawing against his skin, pressure increasing so that Sanji caught his breath. He felt the other man hold that pressure for a moment... Then release. Another pause; then Zoro’s lips worked feather light up the side of Sanji’s neck. Stopped close to his ear. Words murmured on a breath. “Want me to make some bruises on you?”

Sanji shivered involuntarily at the warm breath. “...No.”

“Sure about that?” Zoro’s mouth drifted lower, back to the chef’s neck; began nipping softly at the skin.

“Mmh... Yeah. I’m sure.” Sanji had to work at staying articulate. Had to work hard too at not saying, _Mark me._

 

 

Zoro let his lips explore Sanji’s skin for a few seconds more... Before returning his mouth to the chef’s. Again with that urgency, that need. It connected to Sanji’s gut, tightening it as he rolled onto his back on the bed with Zoro on top of him, his head being pressed down into the mattress as they kissed. He felt his fingers clenching around the neck of the beer bottle, his other hand fisting in the back of Zoro’s shirt. And when Zoro paused for just a split second to breathe, Sanji managed to say something. “Wait – gonna spill my beer - ”

Zoro let out a half-amused, half-impatient breath. “Fuck the beer.”

“I don’t want to lie on a wet mattress, even if you do.” Sanji used the bottle to tap Zoro smartly on the hip. “Let me put the damn thing down.”

Pushing himself upright Zoro reached out and deftly removed the bottle from Sanji’s hand; put it to his mouth and drained it, swallowing hard; then dropped it over the side of the bed with a clunk. “Problem solved.” He lowered himself down again, seeking Sanji’s mouth with his own.

 

 

_He tastes of beer._

Now with both hands free, Sanji used them to grip the edges of Zoro’s shirt and tug it free of his pants. He slid his fingers onto the warm skin underneath, grazing up Zoro’s ribs. In response Zoro sat up again, once more breaking their kiss: unceremoniously yanked his shirt up over his head and dumped it on the floor after the beer bottle. Then reached for Sanji’s shirt. The chef closed one hand round his wrist. “Buttons,” he instructed warningly.

A brief frown crossed Zoro’s face, but his hand shifted. Swiftly he unfastened the shirt before sliding it off, letting it fall and leaning forwards to recapture Sanji’s mouth once more. Sliding one leg between the chef’s, letting his body mould along him, one hand dropping down to pull against Sanji’s hip, pressing them closer.

 

 

_Oh yeah._

This was going fast and unsteady and urgent, in all the right ways. Sanji pushed himself up against Zoro’s leg, feeling Zoro’s arousal against his own thigh. Slid his hands around from Zoro’s ribs to the small of his back and drew him in closer still, letting out a breath as they ground together. Let his own head fall back as Zoro kissed him again, hard.

 

 

The ceiling light was still on. Sanji felt Zoro’s tongue against his own, wanted it more and wanted Zoro’s heat and the smell of his skin and the weight of his body and the pressure of his fingertips gripping him and the sound of his breath.

Music still played, softly in the background. He hadn’t been aware of it for a while but now suddenly he was, a soundtrack to the heat and the wanting and the demands of the body taking over. An odd siren-like chord, drawn out; a repeated series of six notes; then some kind of wind instrument that sang and keened like a seagull. A plucked string like a stone dropped into water. The instruments playing around and between and through each other, connecting and then drifting apart.

Sanji listened and grew still, not realising he was listening. Until he felt the lips on his lift away: touch against his own again, questingly; then he was looking up at Zoro, looking down at him.

 

 

“You okay?”

Sanji nodded. “The music. I was listening to the music.”

A corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted briefly. “Oh?”

“It’s...” _Strange._  “What is it?”

“Jambinai.” Zoro’s eyes rested on him, steady. “South Korean band. Kind of different. But I like it.”

The music unfolded, precise and haunting and plucking every corner of Sanji’s heart. “So do I.”

A smile grew on Zoro’s face. “Yeah?”

Sound blurred, built. Sanji felt it uncoiling into him, spiralling in like smoke. Notes sounding, repeating, calling. A drumbeat coming in. And Zoro’s mouth coming back to his, kissing. A guitar breaking through and a crescendo building. Their hands dragging each other close. The music becoming background again, as his senses sharpened and focussed on the feel of Zoro’s mouth against his own, the taste of him, the sound of their quickening breaths.

 

 

Zoro’s mouth moved away from his, down the side of his neck, onto his chest. Lips then teeth pressing against the skin, exploring, seeking. Sanji felt the warm stroke of Zoro’s tongue against one nipple, then a gentle bite; felt his back arch involuntarily, a breath leaving him. Zoro flicked his tongue hard against the sensitised nipple, then moved his head across Sanji’s chest to repeat the action.

_Yes –_

Sanji twitched, letting out another hard breath; then felt Zoro’s weight shift slightly on the bed as the other man slid his hands, his mouth, downwards along the chef’s body. Kisses, soft bites tracking over Sanji’s ribs; lingering at his navel; then his tongue tracing the happy trail. Sanji felt Zoro’s fingers tug at the front of his pants, unfastening them. He wordlessly raised his hips, letting the other man curl his fingers around the waist of his jeans and slide them downwards over his hips, along his legs. There was a moment’s pause as Zoro freed himself from the rest of his own clothes, before lying back down and lowering his head towards the chef.

 

 

Sanji felt Zoro’s fingers stroke along his hip, following the crease between body and thigh. It bordered on ticklish and he had to fight the urge to squirm – but then Zoro’s mouth fastened on to the skin and the sensation sent liquid heat spiralling through his groin.

_Holy fuck._

Sanji felt his mouth drop open as Zoro’s tongue pressed against him and began tracing its way across his skin. His hands curled into the bed clothes as that warm wet slide moved closer to his centre... And then Zoro lifted his head away. Looked upwards with those dark eyes, assessing Sanji’s expression. And a slow, purposeful smile grew.

Sanji felt the heat swirling in his body increase a little. There was something almost possessive in that smile, something determined that was simultaneously kicked his arousal up a notch... and kindled just a little flame of annoyance.

_You think you’re in charge?_

 

 

Zoro bent his head downwards again, lips travelling across Sanji’s other hip; then suddenly he moved and his mouth found Sanji’s cock and took it in, wet heat and pressure and Sanji flexed on the bed, head arching back, breath sucking in between his teeth.

_Shit goddamnit fuck oh yes_

Sanji felt himself move, body lifting, pushing against that hot mouth; then felt Zoro’s hand curl around his hip and hold tight, pinning him against the bed. His teeth clenched and that spark of annoyance flashed again: he brought his own hand to Zoro’s head, fingers sliding through his hair, gripping it and putting on pressure. Zoro let out a sound that was rendered indistinct by the fact that his mouth was busy, but his hand tightened on Sanji’s hip.

Sanji clutched harder on the hair between his fingers: breathed out hard as Zoro’s tongue swirled around the head of his cock. Felt Zoro’s other hand move between his legs, stroking over his balls, massaging them lightly. And then moving lower. Brushing gently, teasingly along Sanji’s perineum; across the sensitive flesh. Questing further, putting on the pressure.

 

 

Sanji felt the muscles in his stomach tense, even as the sensations of his cock being lapped and sucked continued to spread melting heat across his body. He clenched his fingers sharply in Zoro’s hair and felt the other man pause; Zoro lifted his mouth away and looked upwards again, eyes narrowing slightly.

Sanji returned the look. “Lube, yeah? I’m not a fan of dry fucking.”

The corner of Zoro‘s mouth lifted briefly, before he pushed himself upright. “No problem.” Leaning over to the chest of drawers beside the bed he extracted the necessary, dropping a condom onto the bed and flicking open the cap on the lube even as he moved to lie between Sanji’s legs again. “Didn’t figure you for a hair puller.”

“It didn’t seem like subtle was on the agenda.”

Zoro’s gaze met his. “It didn’t seem like that was a problem.”

Sanji felt the heat coil inside again. Allowed a slow smile to come onto his own face. “It isn’t.”

 

 

Zoro held his gaze for a moment longer... Before bending his head downwards again and kissing the inside of Sanji’s thigh. “Good.” His mouth travelled upwards, lips then teeth pressing against the skin. “You want subtle, just say the word.” Tongue sliding along the angle of Sanji’s hip. “Or do you want something else, cook?”

Sanji breathed out. Slowly. Closed his eyes so he could focus on the feel of Zoro’s mouth, travelling over him. Warm breath and then lips, tongue, Zoro going down on him again, his hand settling back against Sanji’s hip.

“ _Fuck..._ ” He wanted to move, to thrust into that wet heat, he could have used the strength of his legs to do just that, but somehow being pinned down on the bed felt good. Wrong but good. And now Zoro’s other hand was touching him, moving between his legs, brushing against his ass and then one lube-slick finger circling, stroking at his entrance. Then sliding in, smooth and swift. Going in deep and finding the sweet spot almost immediately, so that Sanji jolted against the bed and sucked in a lungful of air. “Fffuck... Zoro...”

There was an answering low sound from Zoro that Sanji felt as much as heard. The other man’s mouth moved against his cock, luscious friction that joined with the finger fucking him and the hand holding onto his hip to make the chef lose himself in the flood of sensations washing over his body.

 

 

Zoro felt shivers run through the body under his hands, his mouth. Sanji’s head was thrown back, his eyes closed, skin flushed; unsteady breaths escaped his parted lips.

_I could come just from watching you._

The strong slender curve of Sanji’s uplifted thigh; the shadowed V of his abdomen; the hitch in his stomach muscles when he breathed. The way he tasted. The noise he made in the back of his throat when Zoro slid in another finger, slowly, insistently, scissoring and curling and brushing against the place that made the chef shiver again.

“Nnghh...”

He wanted to see how much he could make Sanji unravel. How close to the edge he could take him: hold him there, then pull back. How long he could keep him rising, falling.

Zoro gave a last swirl of his tongue around the head of Sanji’s cock, then lifted his head away. Slid his fingers out, after caressing hard enough to make Sanji shudder.

 

 

Sanji’s eyes opened: his gaze met Zoro’s before he pushed himself upright, a complicit smile coming onto his face. Kneeling up on the bed he leaned forward and fastened his mouth on Zoro’s, kissing him hard and lingeringly. Then pulling back just enough to breathe a single word. “Up.”

Zoro came upright too, reaching for Sanji to pull him in close with one hand on the back of his neck for another kiss. The chef let himself be held only briefly, before drawing back again: his mouth breaking from the other man’s only to travel down the side of his neck, teeth nipping at the skin. Hands sliding down Zoro’s sides, head bending forwards, tongue gliding over his ribs. Trailing deliberately slowly over his abs. And then lower.

Zoro’s hand came up to rest on the back of Sanji’s head as the chef went down on him. He breathed hard as Sanji’s tongue worked around the head of his cock, fighting the urge to pull the chef closer, to feel himself taken deep. His hand shook on the back of Sanji’s head, with the effort of holding still.

_Fuck             I want you_

Then he felt Sanji’s mouth lift away: the other man straightening up to kneeling, bringing his gaze back up to Zoro’s face. “Don’t see why you should have all the fun.”

Zoro had no argument with that. And part of him was wondering exactly what it would feel like to have that mouth work against his cock until he came, his fingers threaded into the tangled gold of Sanji’s hair as the chef sucked him off. An image which made his blood pulse even harder southwards.

 

 

The chef reached sideways and picked up the condom from the bed, tearing the wrapper open. And then his hand was rolling it onto Zoro’s cock, fingers teasing the condom down his length. Following up with lube, fingers slicking back and forth so that Zoro shut his eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath.

“Uh-uh. Eyes open.” Sanji’s voice was low and insistent.

Zoro opened his eyes and met the blue gaze. That calculating smile.

Sanji shifted on the bed, spreading his knees and moving forwards until he straddled the other man. His eyes held Zoro’s as he reached down and guided the other man against him, steadying, reaching forwards with his free hand to grip Zoro’s shoulder. Zoro’s hands came up too, resting against the small of Sanji’s back: and then the chef let himself sink, slowly and deliberately, his head lifting with a slight sigh as Zoro slid into him.

_You feel. So. Fucking. Good._

Zoro felt Sanji pause, muscles tensed; then slowly the chef’s hand relaxed where it gripped Zoro’s shoulder. A second later the chef’s other hand came up too. Sanji looked at him: his grip tightened on Zoro’s shoulders, just a little; then his legs flexed, lifting him slightly. Before he brought himself down again.

This time Zoro caught a breath. And Sanji’s eyes stayed fixed on his, darker blue than they had been. They held him as the chef shifted and rose again, fell: and this time Zoro moved too, flexing his hips upwards in an answering thrust that sent a stutter through Sanji’s body. Sanji’s fingers tightened on his shoulders, digging in, as they slipped into a mutual rhythm. Call and response, feeling the way each other moved, the way each other wanted to be moved.

 

 

Sanji’s head bent down and they were kissing, soft and then hard. Zoro found his arms winding round Sanji’s waist, pulling him in, rolling his hips up to meet that downwards thrust. And then Sanji’s mouth travelled to his jawline, to his ear, biting and sucking on his earrings so that Zoro shivered and groaned.

The grip on his shoulders slid round to his back, fingertips pressing deep against muscle, bone. His own hands slid against the chef’s sweat-slick skin, fell down to the tight muscles of his ass. Pulling him closer. Working with the rhythm: that urgent rise and fall, as Sanji’s powerful legs flexed, driving him against the other man.

Tight heat and Zoro was rising high, already. Tonight he’d felt himself falling, wanting this from the moment Sanji had looked at him in the restaurant and said _Your place sounds good._ Everything after that had been background noise, interlude, way stations on the journey to here.

 

 

Sanji’s mouth fastened onto his neck, kissing hard then harder and then a slight edge of pain and Zoro remembered the chef’s fingers resting there, mapping out the flowering bruise.

_\- Looks like it’s going to be a bad one._

Sanji’s teeth pressed against the skin and Zoro angled his head slightly, giving him freer access. Letting the pain slide in, join with all the other feelings in his gut, in his groin, in his hands where they touched the other man.

 

 

The chef lifted his head away; began moving more strongly, driving himself down now with a shiver of breath at each thrust downwards. Zoro met his pace, eyes on the other man’s face, feeling heat building in the base of his spine.

_Oh fuck     love cook    That look on your face is gonna finish this_

He slid one hand from the chef’s back, reaching between them and curling his fingers around the other man’s cock. Sanji’s eyes opened and he gazed at Zoro, still moving, riding their rhythm. “Nnhhh...”

“I want to feel you come.” Zoro stroked his hand up and down Sanji’s cock. “I want to feel you come _hard_.” He thrust up with his hips and heard Sanji groan. “ _Come_   for me.”

The tight heat and the sounds the chef was making were pushing him to his limit: then suddenly he felt Sanji jolt and shudder, crying out, fingers digging in to Zoro’s shoulders as his climax hit. Cum spilled over Zoro’s fingers, against them both as Sanji’s head fell forwards.

 

 

Zoro kept his hand moving slowly, slick against the chef’s skin. His arm stayed wound round Sanji’s waist, feeling the chef shiver and rock in the aftershocks passing through his body. He waited until Sanji’s head lifted at last, slowly; breath still uneven, eyes meeting his. Then Zoro leaned forwards and kissed him: held the kiss and kept going, bringing them both down to the bed. Still sunk deep in Sanji, he began moving his hips again, slow and then picking up speed, deepening each thrust into that tight heat. Letting go and only feeling the wanting, the body against him, around him, and then that shock of heat and release go through him until everything was white noise and falling, losing himself in it and he wanted to stay lost.

 

 

Zoro breathed in; and then out. And he was lying against Sanji, his head resting against the chef’s; his lips tingling and his body coming back. And every cell singing and humming with dark sweetness.

Hands stirred against him: fingers stroked slowly against his spine. He felt lips touch the side of head, a warm breath. “Hey.”

“Mmh.” Speech eluded him right now.

“You better not be thinking about going to sleep.” A hand shifted to the back of his head: stirred the short hair there. “Zoro?”

“Rrhhh.” No more articulate than the last response, but it would have to suffice.

The fingers at the back of his head curled, then took hold of his hair and gave it an insistent and slightly painful tug. “I mean it.”

“Oi...” Zoro gave his head a slight twitch, trying to shake Sanji’s fingers free.

 

 

The body underneath his shifted slightly, the fingers on his hair giving it one more pull – and then Zoro pushed himself up a little on his elbows, before the two of them shifted apart. “Shitty cook...”

“Dumb moss head.” Sanji rolled onto his side, facing him. “I don’t want you falling asleep draped over me like a quilt. You’re too damn heavy .”

“Not my fault you’re such a lightweight.”

“Moron.” Sanji bared his teeth, before kissing him.

Zoro accepted the kiss. “Pain in the ass chef.” Returned it, with interest.

After a few seconds, they drew apart. Their gazes met and both men slowly smiled.

 

 

When Sanji returned from the bathroom Zoro was lying on his back in the bed gazing up at nothing in particular, one arm folded behind his head. Sanji lifted the edge of the quilt and slid in beside him, also lying on his back. Close against the other man he could feel warmth emanating from Zoro’s body, as if the other man were some great cat that had been basking in the sun. He stretched out into the warm zone, feeling a pleasant sense of ease; then let out a quiet breath. He felt Zoro shift slightly before they settled together. Falling into place.

“I’ll put out the light.” Zoro spoke quietly, but didn’t move.

“No hurry.”

There was quiet for a little while. Then Zoro spoke again. “It was good you came today... To the tournament.”

Sanji turned his head a little, regarding him. Zoro was still gazing upwards, his eyes half shut. “Yeah?” The chef found himself remembering, unwillingly, the conversation he’d overheard between the two kendōka in the corridor afterwards. “I wondered... if it might make things difficult for you. Me being there.”

Zoro’s head turned on the pillow then, his gaze finding the chef. “Difficult how?”

Sanji shrugged. “I don’t know.” He knew with absolute clarity that there was no way he was ever going to share what he’d overheard. “Just, a distraction or something. You probably had enough to think about, fighting your shiai.”

Zoro let out a soft huff, not quite a laugh. “I don’t get distracted easily, when I’m fighting.”

That Sanji could believe. “You certainly seemed pretty focussed.”

“There wouldn’t be much point going out there if I wasn’t.” Zoro’s head turned back, his gaze drifting away into the room again. “There’s not much point in doing anything unless you commit yourself completely to it.”

Yosaku’s words from earlier that day surfaced in Sanji’s mind.

_\- The really good kenshi, they totally get into the zone. You can see it when they fight: it puts them on a whole different level._

 

 

“Kenshi.” Sanji said this quietly, watching Zoro’s face.

Zoro blinked. “What?”

Sanji turned a little onto his side. “Kenshi. Yosaku said it, today. He told me that it means swordsman.”

 “...Yeah.” Zoro’s brows drew down, just a little. “That’s right.”

“Well, that makes you one. A kenshi.”

Zoro’s eyes moved, his gaze travelling across the room. Sanji followed it. To the white katana hanging on the wall.

 

 

After a space of quiet which Zoro did nothing to fill, Sanji decided to speak again. “So... It’d be okay if I came to watch you fight again, some other time?”

A slight smile came onto Zoro’s face, and his head turned, his gaze returning to the chef. “If you want.”

“Not that I’m about to become a kendo groupie. But maybe I’d come watch, sometime. Y’know, if I didn’t have anything better to do.” Sanji added this rider on the end, with a brief smirk.

Zoro gave him a look. “Whatever.”

Sanji grinned wider. “Like, maybe doing my tax return. Or washing my hair.”

Zoro regarded him steadily, one eyebrow lifting. “Spare me the details of your personal grooming routine, curly brow.”

“After the way you smelled at lunch today, I would’ve thought you’d welcome a few pointers.”

“People sweat, cook. Get over it.”

“ ‘Horses sweat, gentlemen perspire, and ladies merely glow.’ ” Sanji quoted this decisively.

 

 

Zoro propped himself up on one elbow. “That so?” He leaned towards the chef, bringing his mouth against the other man’s neck. Sanji felt the swordsman’s lips and tongue explore his skin, travelling down to the hollow of his collarbone. Then they lifted away and Zoro grinned at him. “You worked up a pretty good sweat. I can taste it.”

“Thanks for the feedback.” Sanji breathed out slowly, feeling the zing of sensation that Zoro’s mouth on his skin had produced fade away. “And point of information: animals may lick each other clean but I’m planning to take a shower in the morning, so I don’t need you salivating over me at this point.”

Zoro chuckled. Bent his head close to the chef’s neck again... then changed trajectory, landing his mouth on Sanji’s. Kissed him, efficiently and thoroughly, then pushed himself further upright and reached to the lamp at the side of the bed. The room clicked into darkness and Sanji felt the other man slide back down under the covers, before letting out a sigh. Their bodies aligned, touching at shoulder and arm and hip. Sanji felt Zoro’s solid warmth, listened to the slow rhythm of his breathing. And felt a perfect sense of ease, of rightness, of nothing out of place. He closed his eyes against the dark and let night come for him, going under with a smile on his face.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More word meanings for those who want to know:
> 
> encho-sen = extra time in a kendo match, where two players have equal points and need to score a decider  
> Kogaku-Kan, the name of the dojo that Zoro and Johnny and Yosaku go to = 'a place for infinite learning'  
> tempura = battered deep-fried vegetables or seafood  
> yaki-gyoza = small fried/steamed dumplings filled with minced meat, vegetables and spices  
> kitsune soba = literally 'fox noodles', buckwheat noodles in broth topped with fried tofu  
> miso pork ramen = wheat noodles in broth with pork  
> spinach ohitashi = spinach cooked in dashi (broth). Sanji's gonna get Zoro eating green vegetables somehow.  
> tsukemono = Japanese pickles  
> katana = a Japanese sword with a slender, curved, single-edged blade. Kuina's shinshinto katana would potentially be worth a lot of money: at least $1500.
> 
> The not putting your glass down after making a toast until you've drunk from it is a superstition I inherited from my big sis, since she started living in France. She freaks if people do it. Apparently it's massively unlucky.
> 
> The track that Sanji and Zoro are listening to is Connection, by South Korean band Jambinai. Jambinai are awesome and you can check the track out here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aik3JRXud6Q
> 
> Last but not least, massive gratitude to everyone who's been reading this fic series, and leaving comments and kudos. It is so very much appreciated... Life's been kind of challenging for a while (had to find a new place to live, money has been tight) so had to fit writing in whenever. But I will keep on writing, and posting chapters, so long as there are people out there who want me to. Can't seem to stop the words writing themselves in my hectic brain.


	4. The Morning After The Night Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji retraced his steps to Zoro’s bedroom and shed his clothes before swiftly climbing back into bed and sliding along the warmth of the swordsman’s body. He wrapped one arm over Zoro’s waist, moulding himself against the other man’s back: felt him stir and let out a grunt. A half minute or so later, a low grumble reached him. “Damn, cook... You want to warm those hands before you go shoving them on other people?”
> 
> Sanji smiled against the back of the swordsman’s neck. “You’re nice and warm. So share.” He pulled himself closer, lifting one leg and draping it over the other man’s.
> 
> “Shit!” Zoro twitched in his grip. “Your feet are like fucking blocks of ice.”
> 
> “Yeah well, if you keep your apartment at sub-zero temperatures you gotta expect consequences.”

 

* * *

 

 

 _Ice on the windows, let's melt it away_  
_It's a hell of a winter_  
_So much time to waste, so much to say_  
_Peppered with laughter_  
_Nowhere to go, nothing to do_  
_But move just a little bit closer to you_  
_The morning after the night before_

_\- Chumbawamba_

 

* * *

 

 

The following morning Sanji woke from a sleep so deep it felt dreamless. Lying on his side he surfaced slowly, pieces of reality filtering back in. Warmth, under the covers of the bed. Stronger warmth from the body lying close against his back, and the weight of Zoro’s arm slung over him. Faint greyish light from a curtained window. The unfamiliar shadows and shapes of Zoro’s bedroom.

He came up a little more and the impulses _bathroom_   and _cigarette_   manifested themselves almost simultaneously. Letting out a yawn he pushed himself upright a little on one elbow. His hand moved to the arm still draped over him and he lifted it aside. Beside him Zoro stirred and muttered, before becoming still again.

Sanji slid his legs out of bed and stood up, blinking in the gloom of the bedroom to try to ascertain where his clothes had wound up the night before. There were indistinct heaps on the floor: by a process of trial and error he managed to find his jeans and shirt and pulled them on, then spent a fruitless few minutes hunting for his coat with its pocket containing his cigarettes before he remembered he’d hung it up in Zoro’s hallway the night before.

 

 

A full bladder took precedence over nicotine deprivation, but as soon as he’d visited the bathroom Sanji headed barefoot down the hallway, arms folded over his chest against the none-too-warm temperature of Zoro’s apartment. He stepped into the living room, heading for the hallway beyond... Then stopped.

On the low coffee table a couple of mugs and plates bore testimony to the fact that someone else besides Zoro and himself had come back last night. Presumably very late last night. And more to the point, the couch was now occupied. By a nest of blankets from which the only identifiable human anatomy showing was a pair of feet sticking out of one end of the nest, sporting socks too colourful to contemplate at this hour of the morning. As Sanji regarded the socks warily, a long drawn-out snore signalled that the couch’s occupant was still firmly asleep.

_Presumably that’s not Zoro’s friend Luffy... Unless the guy always sleeps on the couch._

Another epic snore reverberated. Deciding that making the acquaintance of whoever was slumbering under there wasn’t a priority, Sanji resumed his hunt for cigarettes, making his way to where his coat hung by the apartment’s front door.

 

 

Once he had his cigarettes and lighter he had something of a quandary: where to smoke? Doing it in Zoro’s bedroom while the swordsman was still asleep wasn’t exactly considerate; but not knowing his roomie’s preferences on smoking made choosing another venue difficult. The tiny windowless bathroom wasn’t exactly ideal; nor was smoking in the living room with the unknown and snoring body on the couch.

In the end Sanji found his way to the kitchen by default, and was heartened to see that it had a small window which he managed to open a few inches. Leaning against the sill he lit up and inhaled, watching the light grow on the street outside, the morning traffic starting to build up.

After a while his gaze came back inside the apartment: travelled slowly round the kitchen, as he assessed it with a professional eye.

He dimly remembered Zoro saying that he and his friend mostly lived on take-out, because neither of them liked to cook. Seeing the meagre resources in the kitchen he was looking at, Sanji could believe it. There was a small gas cooker, a microwave, a toaster and kettle, and not a hell of a lot else. A scuffed old refrigerator hummed in a corner; a bottle opener lay on the table next to two beer bottle caps, evidently where Zoro had left them last night. The work surfaces were chipped and bore some mugs, a jar of instant coffee, and a packet of sugar with a teaspoon sticking out of its top.

 

 

Sanji wrinkled his nose. His own kitchen at home was small, but its worktops were spotless and his collection of equipment was meticulously stored. He’d arranged his working space so that he could create a meal with the minimum of difficulty, but also so that he could enjoy cooking. Sanji _liked_   kitchens. But this kitchen was... seriously unloved.

He noticed a drift of shopping bags stuffed onto a chair that was partly pushed under the table, as if someone had ditched them there after buying groceries. A lot of bags. Which didn’t make sense: this kitchen looked like no-one ever made more than coffee in it, so why would there be groceries?

Curiosity got the better of him, and he finished his cigarette before stubbing it out. Walking to the refrigerator he pulled on the door and gazed inside. Then stood there, blinking.

 

 

_Holy crap._

Either some kind of bizarre Grocery Store Santa had decided that Zoro and his friend had been very good boys indeed, or someone was planning one hell of a dinner party.

Sanji eyed the groaning refrigerator shelves warily. There was a large carton of eggs; three loaves of sliced bread; milk; butter; packets of waffles; sausages; bacon; hamburgers. In fact, meat was a definite theme in there. Lots and lots of it. All crammed onto the shelves with merry disregard for food hygiene rules.

He found himself clenching his jaw.

_Uncooked meat stored on top of bread and dairy products._

He moved forwards and began taking things out, laying them on the kitchen table.

 

 

Ten minutes later he had refilled the refrigerator in an orderly fashion. There was so much food it was clear that whoever had stuffed it in originally had probably just been trying to fit it into the available space. Sanji made more room available by taking out a case of beer he found in there, so that the foodstuffs could be accommodated in a more organised way. When it was done he closed the door, giving a slight shake of his head, and decided to leave the kitchen before he saw anything else that would annoy him.

The snoring heap of blankets on the couch had changed shape slightly but remained basically inanimate. Sanji retraced his steps to Zoro’s bedroom and shed his clothes before swiftly climbing back into bed and sliding along the warmth of the swordsman’s body. He wrapped one arm over Zoro’s waist, moulding himself against the other man’s back: felt him stir and let out a grunt. A half minute or so later, a low grumble reached him. “Damn, cook... You want to warm those hands before you go shoving them on other people?”

Sanji smiled against the back of the swordsman’s neck. “You’re nice and warm. So share.” He pulled himself closer, lifting one leg and draping it over the other man’s.

“Shit!” Zoro twitched in his grip. “Your feet are like fucking blocks of ice.”

“Yeah well, if you keep your apartment at sub-zero temperatures you gotta expect consequences.”

“I’ll pass your feedback on to the landlord. I’m sure he’ll get right onto it,” Zoro responded dryly.

“It _is_ midwinter. I’m pretty sure that letting your tenants freeze to death in their own home is illegal, even in this economic climate.”

“There’s a sweater in the bottom drawer. Help yourself.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll just stay here in this bed until I can feel my extremities again.”

Zoro let out a long yawn. “You can stay in bed all day, if you want. Won’t bother me.”

“You usually spend your days off hibernating? That makes sense, with your apartment resembling the Arctic.”

“It’s a day off, shit cook. I plan to take it easy. What, you usually get up at dawn to salute the sun or something?”

“I woke up and wanted a cigarette, and being a nice person I went to smoke elsewhere.”

“Good.”

“And en route I encountered another hibernating life-form. Are you aware you have a house guest?”

 

 

“Hm?” Zoro rolled onto his back, letting out another yawn. “Someone crashed here?”

“On your couch. I didn’t see enough to determine more than the fact it’s human.”

“Eh... Probably Usopp.” Zoro rubbed his fingers through his hair, then stretched. “Guess he and Luffy must’ve got back sometime last night after all.”

“I guess so.” Sanji considered for a moment. “Are you expecting more guests that I don’t know about?”

“Huh? No.” Zoro frowned slightly at him. “Why would I be?”

“Because your refrigerator contains enough food to feed a small Midwestern town. And maybe a Boy Scout troop as well.”

 

 

The frown deepened on Zoro’s face... Then he let out a snort of laughter. “That idiot.”

“What idiot?”

“Luffy.” Zoro gave a shake of his head. “He said he was going to buy some food. I figured he’d just forget.”

“I think it’s safe to say he remembered.” Sanji raised his eyebrows. “Is he a big guy, your friend?”

“No.”

It was Sanji’s turn to frown. “Then you better be hungry. Because otherwise a shitload of food is going to go to waste.” This time Zoro chuckled. “What, you think wasting food is funny?” Sanji felt the anger come, right on cue.

“Heh... That’s right, you’ve never seen Luffy eat.” Zoro looked at him, wearing an irritating grin.

“Is it a life-enriching experience?” Sanji asked caustically, unimpressed. He hadn’t even met this guy Luffy yet, and he was already pissed with him. The image of the over-stuffed fridge with its packs of raw meat jostling up against the other food came back into his mind’s eye. _What a moron._

“Relax, shitty cook. It’ll work out okay.” Zoro folded one arm behind his head, still smiling. “It usually does, with Luffy.” He paused, and his smile dropped a notch or two. “Mostly,” he amended.

 

 

Sanji supposed Zoro knew his own friend best, but he couldn’t quite remove the image of that ridiculous quantity of food from his mind. “If you say so.” He knew he sounded sceptical, but he couldn’t help it. People who had no respect for food never failed to get under his skin.

Zoro regarded him for a moment. Then unexpectedly he unfolded his arm and reached out, laying it around the chef’s shoulders. Sanji felt himself eased slightly sideways, his head resting against the swordsman’s shoulder. “It’s not your problem. Relax.”

“Thanks for the therapy.” Sanji wanted to feel irritated, but lying against Zoro’s solid warmth was actually pretty pleasant. He found a reluctant smile coming onto his own face.

“You can pay me in services rendered.” Zoro’s fingertips stroked lightly on the chef’s shoulder.

“In your dreams, moss head.”

“I’d rather be awake when you’re doing it.” Zoro shifted slightly, tilting his head far enough to reach Sanji’s ear with his mouth. He began tracking kisses down the side of the chef’s neck, his free hand also moving across and exploring its way down Sanji’s body.

“Mmhh...” Sanji felt the muscles in his stomach twitch under those questing fingers. “That tickles.”

The touch against his skin grew firmer... and moved lower. “How about here?”

“Better...” Sanji’s smile grew, as Zoro’s mouth found his.

 

 

 

 

Some time later, Zoro lay in a contented sprawl under the covers. The door creaked open and he idly watched Sanji come back into the room. The chef was dressed and scrubbing at his hair with a towel, swearing in some language other than English. “ _Bordel de merde..._ Even your shower is cold. I think my circulation has stopped.”

“Want me to get it going again for you?”

Sanji gave his hair one last rub, then tossed the towel – unpleasantly damp – onto Zoro’s face. “No. Go get a shower, you animal.”

Zoro pulled the towel off, then sat up. “You better not have used all the hot water.”

“ _What_   fucking hot water?” Sanji sat down on the edge of the bed. “Hey... Have you got any real coffee in that pitiful excuse for a kitchen?”

“Maybe.” Zoro got up and picked up his pants from the floor, hauling them on before heading for the door. “And if you quit griping I might even tell you where to find it.”

“Asshole.” Sanji tried to comb his damp hair with his fingers, and failed. “I hope you get hypothermia in the shower.”

Zoro gave him a snarky grin, before disappearing to the bathroom.

 

 

Left alone in Zoro’s bedroom, Sanji considered his options. Sit there until Zoro came back. Crawl back under the bedcovers fully dressed, to get warm again. Or venture out into the rest of the apartment and ransack the kitchen for decent coffee.

He chose the latter, largely because getting back into bed might mean he and Zoro would wind up spending the entire day in there. Which was not without its attractions... But he was starting to feel hungry, and in need of caffeine. Finding his socks and pulling them on, Sanji headed back out into the rest of the apartment.

 

 

This time when he entered the living room, the occupant of the couch was awake and sitting upright, albeit still wrapped in a blanket. A skinny young black guy with a mass of shoulder-length hair and the longest nose Sanji had ever seen, sat hunched over a steaming mug with his mouth stretched wide in mid-yawn. At the sight of Sanji he stopped; tried unsuccessfully to subdue the yawn, and blinked at him. “Wha... whahh-uhhh.” The yawn ran its course. Then the guy looked slightly embarrassed. “Uhh... Hi.”

“Hi.” Sanji gave him a smile. “I’m Sanji.”

“Uhm. Right?” The guy scratched his head, blinking sleep out of his eyes. “I’m Usopp.”

Sanji propped one shoulder against the wall, his hands in his pockets. “I’m a friend of Zoro’s.”

“Yeah?” Usopp blinked again, then summoned a polite smile onto his face. “Hi. No, wait, I already said that.” The smile morphed into a sheepish grin. “Sorry – mornings aren’t my finest hour.”

“Take it slow,” Sanji advised. He nodded towards the mug that the other man was clutching. “I’m gonna make some fresh coffee, if I can find where it’s hidden in the kitchen. That any help?”

“You will forever have my undying gratitude and slavish loyalty,” Usopp responded. “This instant stuff is the worst.” He regarded the mug he was holding with a sad expression. “Even when I loaded it up with five spoons of sugar, I can still taste its true evil.”

Happy to have found an ally in his quest for proper caffeine, Sanji moved to the kitchen doorway. “Okay. Back in five.”

 

 

It took a while to locate the holy grail: a half-full packet of Columbian dark roast, tucked away at the back of one of the kitchen cupboards. A scuffed but decently large cafetière sat next to the coffee and Sanji lost no time in combining the two to produce the necessary brew.

When he returned to the living room with the coffee, milk, sugar and two clean mugs Usopp had emerged fully from his nest of blankets and sat looking more or less ready to face the world. “Oh wow, great.” He regarded the cafetière happily. “The day is looking up.”

Sanji sat in the armchair, taking out his cigarettes and lighter – then glanced at the other man. “Want me to take this elsewhere?”

“No, s’cool.” Usopp waved a hand dismissively. Sanji nodded, then after a moment’s thought offered the cigarette packet towards him. This time Usopp shook his head. “Thanks but no thanks. But you go ahead, it doesn’t bother me.”

 

 

Sanji lit up and inhaled slowly, before leaning forward and carefully depressing the plunger in the cafetière. He poured himself a mugful, then nudged the cafetière across the table in the other man’s direction. Usopp reached for it with a grateful smile, before filling his own mug and then adding industrial quantities of sugar and milk. He picked up his drink and engulfed a huge mouthful, before sinking back against the couch with a sigh of pleasure. “Now _that’s_   a cup of coffee I can make friends with.”

“Would that be a serious commitment, or just beverages with benefits?” Sanji enquired, sipping from his own mug.

“Well, y’know, we’d start out light... Nothing too serious. I’m not sure I’m ready to be tied down just yet.” Usopp nodded seriously over his mug. “Plus I have caffeine intimacy issues. There’s this whole mocha thing I had a while back, it’s left me with a lot of stuff to work through.”

Sanji found himself smiling. “Right. Sounds like you should take things slow.”

“I will. I’m on a 12-step programme. From decaf to espresso in easy stages.” Usopp adopted a serious expression and set his mug on the table, before declaiming solemnly, “Hi, my name is Usopp, and I’m a caffeine addict.”

Sanji saluted him with his own mug. “Hi, Usopp.”

 

 

The other man grinned at him, before picking his coffee back up off the table and downing another gulp. “Ahh... Man, that’s good. My nervous system thanks you.”

“I was making some anyway.” Sanji shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

“I needed something to get me going... That couch has seen not just better days but better centuries.” Usopp shifted, easing his cricks out of his neck by bending it one way and then the other. “Plus we didn’t get back here till one a.m. Then Luffy wanted to us to try out all our latest ideas in Going Merry... I’ll bet I didn’t get to sleep much before three.”

“The two of you been at a party or something?”

“Well yeah, that was the end of the night. But we’d been hanging at a graffiti jam before that.”

“Yeah? That sounds cool. You paint?”

“Sometimes. Went along yesterday to soak up the scene. There were some really great pieces... Till the cops showed up and we had to vacate in a hurry.” Usopp made a wry face. “Same old.”

 

 

“Zoro said you were an artist... That you draw stuff.” Sanji sipped his coffee.

Usopp struck a pose. “I am the Leonardo of this benighted city. Unappreciated, unsung, unhung in galleries, yet I create works of magnificence that make strong men weep and women sigh. The path of an artist is a lonely yet lofty one: suffering for his art, yet leaving footprints of genius in history that future generations will marvel over.”

“He said you created an online game.”

Usopp relaxed, taking a swig from his own mug. “Well, yeah. That too.”

Sanji looked up at the poster on the living room wall. “That’s it, right? Your work?”

“Mm-hmm.” Usopp looked up too. “Good ol’ Going Merry. Long may she keep on sailing the internet, keeping me in art materials and helping to pay the rent.”

“I like it.” Sanji nodded at the poster. “Your style, I mean.”

“Well, that’s pretty basic - the look of the game space is waaaay sweeter. Having a lot of ocean could’ve got boring but I worked in a bunch of random elements in Terragen based on actual oceanographic charts – and the cool thing about using Mudbox and Blender is that you don’t have to spend half your life sculpting and mapping, so that frees up more time for working on concept art and stuff like... Uh...” Usopp paused for breath. “...It only now occurs to me that you are probably not a gamer and you’re wondering, who is this crazy person and why are they babbling at me.” He buried his face in his mug.

Sanji laughed. “Well, yeah. I know less about gaming than I do about nuclear fission technology, but all that sounded impressive.”

Usopp brightened visibly. “It is. Hugely impressive. Absolutely. You should definitely be feeling very impressed.”

“Check.” Sanji smiled at him. “Really. That whole gaming world is a massive market, anyone who taps into it is doing the smart thing.”

“Following the money, sure. So as well as leaving the world a legacy of my awesome creative powers, the Usopp Gaming Empire will soon be a brand name to be reckoned with!” Usopp lifted his mug in a dramatic salute; then lowered it and gave a shrug. “Plus, gaming: big fun. Like, who wants to actually work for a living?”

Sanji gave another smile. “Guess it depends what you have to work at.”

 

 

Usopp nodded. “Guess so.” He regarded Sanji. “You work as a chef, right?”

“Zoro told you?”

“No, Luffy did. Last night.” Usopp gave a half-shake of his head. “On the way back here he insisted on going into a grocery store and buying up half the place; and when I asked him why, he said Zoro had a new friend who was a chef, and that you were going to make us all a special breakfast.”

 _Assume, much?_   Sanji felt his hackles rising in respect to Luffy again. “That’s news to me.”

“I told him we didn’t need half the stuff he was getting, but Luffy never does anything small scale...” Usopp caught the look on Sanji’s face, and obviously picked up the pissed vibe the chef was giving off. “Uh. But, y’know, you’re like, a guest, so you don’t have to cook anything if you don’t want to. Once Luffy gets an idea he just runs with it... but we can just, uh, do our own thing...”

Sanji thought of the loaded refrigerator. And let out an inner sigh. “I’ll take a look. I could cook a dozen courses with what you guys brought back, though.”

Usopp grinned apologetically. “Luffy kind of hasn’t got that bone in his head that tells most people ‘Hey, that’s probably enough.’ ”

 

 

Sanji was thinking about how exactly he was going to start tackling the mountain of provisions in a kitchen that seemed to be largely devoid of hardware, when an unreasonably loud exclamation from behind made him almost spill the remainder of his coffee down his shirt.

“Usopp!! You’re awake!”

A dark-haired blur flew past and landed on the couch, tackling the other man so that he went over sideways, one hand somehow managing to keep his own mug of coffee more or less upright. “Whoa, Luffy - !”

“Did you sleep well? I slept great. I had this really cool dream, you were in it, and Ace, and there was this giant spider, like the size of a building, only it was a _friendly_ spider, y’know the kind that talks, and it told us we could ride on its back while it went walking around the city. And then I woke up, because I was hungry.”

“Ah?” responded Usopp, holding his coffee at arm’s length whilst apparently unphased by the fact that the other man – Luffy, Sanji presumed - was virtually sitting in his lap. “Good?”

“Is that coffee? Is there some left? Have you started breakfast without me?” Luffy looked dismayed.

“Yes; yes; and no.” Usopp extricated himself with ease of long practice and waved a hand towards the chef. “Luffy, this is Sanji. Sanji, this is Luffy.”

 

 

Luffy turned his gaze onto the chef and inspected him for about half a second, before his face lit up into a delighted grin. “You’re Zoro’s friend!”

“Yeah. Hi,” said Sanji evenly, wondering if Luffy had volume settings other than max.

The younger man kept grinning at him. “You’re a chef, right? That’s so cool. Zoro said you cooked him breakfast. We’ve got lots of food here that you could cook, me and Usopp bought it last night. There’s plenty.”

“So I noticed,” Sanji replied.

“Can you cook pancakes? They’re the best. I like them with bacon. And eggs, they’re good with bacon too. And sausages. Can you cook sausages?”

“I’m a chef,” said Sanji in level tones. “I can cook most things.”

“Really? Wow.” Luffy looked momentarily impressed, before his train of thought hurtled off to the next station. “Can you cook waffles?”

 

 

Sanji’s gaze switched to Usopp. The artist let his eyebrows raise just a little, while a smile turned up the corners of his mouth. Looking back at Luffy, Sanji nodded. “Yes. I can cook waffles. I can cook anything you have in your fridge, okay?”

“Ahh...” Luffy let out an anticipatory sound of pleasure. “Can you cook it now? I’m really hungry.”

Sanji’s eyes narrowed, just a little. _Does this idiot have even the slightest notion of social niceties?_   “I’m still drinking my coffee. And finishing my cigarette.” He gestured with it.

“Oh.” Luffy looked from the cigarette to the mug... Then settled himself back on the couch cross-legged and gave Sanji another winning smile. “Okay, then. I can wait. Did you sleep well?”

Sanji regarded him for a moment. Luffy’s smile was wide and friendly and genuine. And weirdly disarming. “Uh... Fine, thanks.”

“Because Zoro snores really loud,” Luffy advised him. “I was worried he might keep you awake.”

 

 

“No louder than you do, moron.” Zoro’s voice came from the doorway. He stepped inside, picking up a cushion from the pile of bedding Usopp had discarded onto the floor and throwing it accurately at Luffy’s head. “Hey, Usopp.”

“Hey, man.” Usopp raised a hand in greeting. “How’d your kendo tournament go?”

“I won.” Zoro gave a nod.

“Score.” Usopp nodded back in approval.

“Zoro always wins.” Luffy emerged from underneath the cushion. “Zoro’s the best kendo fighter out there.”

Zoro let out a grunt. “Got a hella lot of people yet I need to take on.”

“And you’ll win.” Luffy proclaimed this confidently, as if it was an undeniable fact: his gaze resting happily on his friend. Zoro said nothing, but after a moment Sanji saw an answering smile come onto the swordsman’s face.

 

 

“How’d the graffiti thing work out?” Zoro looked at Usopp.

“Sweet, there were some kickass pieces.” Usopp reached into his pocket and took out a smartphone, swiping its screen. “I took a bunch of photos.”

Zoro took the phone from him and scrolled through the images, giving a nod as he looked at them. “Looks like there was a big crew out there.”

“Ten, twenty writers.” Usopp nodded. “Some of the real kings showed up.”

Zoro passed the phone on to Sanji, who ran his finger over the screen as Zoro had, revealing the photos Usopp had taken of walls adorned with graffiti art. “You do a piece yourself?”

“No... I hadn’t worked up any ideas. Like I said, mostly I just went along to check it out.”

 

 

“I painted one!” announced Luffy eagerly. “I did that lion, y’know, the one I was telling you about, Zoro – it was awesome.” He got up and pounced on the phone that Sanji was holding, flipping his finger across the screen. “I’ll show you a picture.” After a few seconds he let out a triumphant sound and stuck the phone under Sanji’s nose. “See?”

It was just as well that Luffy had told them the graffiti art was of a lion, Sanji decided. Otherwise he would have been unsure as to what type of animal he was looking at. The graffiti piece was a dribbly mess of wobbly sprayed lines and bright colours, with the lion looking decidedly cross-eyed. Tagged across the bottom was the name LUFfY in unsteady letters, and in the foreground Luffy himself was just visible sticking his head into the photo, his face and hands decorated with the same colours as the wall.

“It’s cool, isn’t it?” said Luffy happily.

Sanji looked at him, seeing for the first time smears and specks of spray paint lingering on the younger man’s hands and arms. There was a smudge of yellow beside his left eye: Sanji noticed the thin line of a scar under the eye, making a shallow crescent on Luffy’s cheekbone. “...Yeah. It’s, uh, great.”

He passed the phone back to Zoro, who regarded the image with a snort and then tossed the phone back to Usopp. “Looks like you got more paint on you than on the wall.”

 

 

“It was really hard to do,” explained Luffy, flopping back on the couch beside Usopp. “And we had to go before I’d really finished it, because the cops showed up.”

Zoro looked at Usopp again. “Trouble?”

Usopp shrugged, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Only of the running-away-in-ten-directions-very-fast variety. No-one got busted.”

“They couldn’t catch us. Cops’re no problem, they’re always too slow.” Luffy proclaimed this smugly.

“They don’t need to be fast. They carry guns, remember? Not to mention, you signed your actual fucking name on a wall for them to see.” Zoro cuffed him across the top of his head. “Use an alias next time, dumbass.”

“Ow!” Luffy looked wounded. “Why are you hitting me?”

“ ‘Cos that seems the only way to get things into your thick skull.” Zoro shook his head. “One of these days you’re gonna run out of luck.”

Luffy stuck his tongue out. “You’re just mad because you missed out on all the fun.”

“Don’t know about that.” Zoro shot a sly glance at Sanji. “I had a pretty good time myself.”

 

 

The chef returned his look, before swiftly changing the subject. “So. Who wants breakfast?”

“Me!” Luffy sprang upright on the couch, planting an elbow in Usopp’s groin as he did so.

“Ufff - ” Usopp grimaced with pain, but managed to raise a hand. “I’m in.”

Sanji got up. “Right. Give me a half hour.”

 

 

Once in the kitchen he headed for the refrigerator and opened its door, removing various foodstuffs and placing them on the table so he could see what he had to work with. As he stood regarding the pile Zoro entered the room. He came to a stop and looked at the loaded table too, before letting out a snort. “That idiot. I’ll bet he would’ve bought even more if Usopp hadn’t been with him.”

“Mm-hm.” Sanji turned to the cupboards by the cooker, and began opening one after the other.

“You don’t have to lay on breakfast if you don’t want to, cook. You can tell Luffy to fix his own damn food.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll end well.” Sanji gave a shake of his head. “Do you even own a skillet?”

“If I knew what the fuck one was, maybe I could tell you.”

“A frying pan. You know? Big round flat metal thing with a long handle.”

“Try the cupboard by the fridge.”

 

 

Sanji opened the indicated cupboard, and pulled out a large cast iron frying pan. “This has rust on it.”

“So what, metal rusts. Did you hear what I said, about not having to feed everyone?”

“I don’t mind making some breakfast. Ugh, look at this... Have you ever heard of seasoning a cast iron pan, you philistine?”

Zoro’s brow furrowed. “Aren’t you supposed to season the food, not the stuff you cook it in?”

“Not _that_   kind of seasoning, moron... Oh, never mind.” Sanji took the pan to the sink and began cleaning it thoroughly. “If you want to stay in here while I’m cooking, make yourself useful. Put the oven on low and find me a chopping board and a decent sharp knife. Have you got an egg whisk?”

“Yeah, we keep it in the drawer with all the silver cutlery.” Zoro propped himself against one of the counters, grinning sardonically.

“And I’ll need a baking tray and some olive oil. Extra virgin for preference.”

“I like it when you talk dirty.” Zoro’s grin widened.

Sanji turned around at the sink, and gestured at the heap of food on the table. “I have to convert that mountain into breakfast in a kitchen that borders on the medieval. Either help or clear the fuck out, before I part your hair with this skillet.”

“All right, curly brow, don’t flare your nostrils at me. I did offer you the option of not cooking anything.”

“I don’t mind cooking breakfast for your friends.” Sanji resumed scrubbing the pan in the sink, before lifting it up and inspecting it critically. “I suppose that’ll have to do.”

 

 

A step sounded close behind him. Suddenly he felt Zoro lean against him, the swordsman’s arms wrapping round his waist. The other man’s lips pressed briefly against the side of his head, then lifted away. “So all that stuff they say about chefs’ fiery tempers is true, huh?”

Sanji stiffened for a moment in the swordsman’s grip... Before setting the skillet carefully down. And leaning back, ever so slightly. “Asshole.”

 “I meant what I said. Don’t feel like you have to fix breakfast just because Luffy wants it to be that way. That idiot has about a hundred bright ideas every day, and you learn just to say no to ninety per cent of them.”

Sanji found himself smiling. “And then he doesn’t do them?”

“Well, no... Most of the time he goes ahead anyway,” Zoro admitted. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be dragged along in his wake every time.”

 

 

Sanji brought his hands up and rested them on Zoro’s arms, where they were still wrapped around his waist. “I really... don’t... mind. Truth. I like cooking for people. And they’re your friends.”

“Okay,” Zoro responded. “So long as you’re not wishing we’d gone back to your place last night, instead of coming here.”

“Why would I?”

The swordsman let out a snort. “Because so far you’ve bitched about the lack of heating, having to take a cold shower, and you’ve just had your first hit of Luffy.”

Sanji shrugged. “He’s not so bad.” Zoro gave a grunt of disbelief. “Okay, poster boy for ADHD, maybe... But I get the impression he means well.”

“Oh yeah, he always starts out with good intentions,” responded Zoro. “Just it usually winds up in chaos.”

“Which is why me cooking breakfast rather than him doing it is a smart idea.” Sanji tightened his grip on Zoro’s arms for a moment, hugging them against his body... Then eased them free, turning round to face the other man. “I’m glad I came back here last night. I like seeing where you live. And meeting your friends.”

The swordsman rested his hands on Sanji’s hips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sanji smiled, before sliding himself away. “Now find me that stuff I asked for, so I can get cooking.”

 

 

In the event it took Sanji a little longer than he’d estimated to convert the heap of provisions into what he considered a decent range of breakfast dishes. When he finally stuck his head into the living room and announced, “It’s ready - ” he was nearly knocked over by Luffy hurrying to get past him.

Usopp and Zoro followed at a more sane pace, and they all gathered round the kitchen table where Sanji had placed the things he’d cooked in various baking trays and dishes he’d manage to scrounge from the recesses of the kitchen cupboards. Luffy was already reaching into one of the dishes with his fingers, cramming a piece of crispy bacon into his mouth with an indistinct happy sound. “Mwoww... Thish ish great!”

Sanji picked up a wooden spoon that was on the table for dishing up and cracked it down across Luffy’s hand, which was already reaching out to take more food. “Get your fingers out of there, craphead – we’re all going to eat that, we don’t want your hands all over it!”

Luffy withdrew his hand with a contrite expression. “It looks so good.”

“It _is_ good.” Sanji gestured at all the dishes of food ranged across the table. “And there’s plenty of it. So there’s no need to pounce on the food like a starving hyena. Get a plate – they’re keeping warm in the oven – and use the spoons to dish up, like a civilised human being.”

“Okay!” Luffy moved to the oven, but Zoro was quicker.

“I’ll get the plates.” The swordsman jerked his thumb at the table. “You wait over there and I’ll give you one.” His gaze switched to the chef momentarily. _Luffy fetching hot plates? Bad idea._

 

 

Once they were all loaded up with food they settled in the living room to eat their breakfast. For the first five minutes there was no conversation, each man being intent on his plateful. At last Usopp broke the silence. Raising his fork dramatically, he announced, “I’m now eternally glad I didn’t get grabbed by the cops last night. ‘Cause I would’ve missed eating this breakfast, which is the best thing to happen to me in the last year.” He pointed his fork at Sanji. “As a genius myself, I salute it in others. You, my man, are an artist.”

“Thanks.” Sanji smiled at the other man’s flowery declamation.

“Seriously, this is awesome.” Usopp shovelled another forkful of food into his mouth. “My taste buds worship you.”

“Ish fo good!” exclaimed Luffy, through his own mouthful, spraying partly-chewed food.

Zoro, who was closest to him, grimaced and nudged him with his elbow. “Talk _after_ you’ve swallowed, asshole.”

“Bu’ ish amazhing!” Luffy swallowed hard, then beamed at Sanji. “It all tastes so great. Can I have some more?”

Sanji nodded. “There’s plenty left. Go help yourself.”

 

 

Luffy bounced up from the couch and almost ran into the kitchen. A second later the sound of a spoon scraping against dishes could be heard.

“Anyone else wants seconds, better get in there quick,” commented Zoro.

“He won’t be able to finish all the food that was left on his own,” said Sanji.

Usopp snickered. “You wanna bet?”

Sanji raised an eyebrow, and resumed eating. A minute or so later Luffy returned, dropping himself back onto the couch with a plate piled even higher with food than his first helping had been. Sanji regarded it incredulously, then shook his head. “Hey, that’s ridiculous! You can’t eat all that. Put some of it back.”

“Wha’?” Luffy looked up, his mouth mostly plugged by a sausage.

Sanji jabbed his finger at the plateful. “That food was for everyone. You’ve taken way more than anyone else – you’ll wind up wasting it.”

“I won’t!” Luffy promised, swallowing his mouthful. “I’ll finish it all. It’s soooo yummy.”

Sanji opened his mouth to argue, but beside him Zoro gave a grunt. “Save your breath, cook. He’ll eat what he’s got, believe you me.”

 

 

The swordsman had been right. A short while later Sanji watched with slight disbelief over his second mug of coffee, as Luffy polished his plate clean with a slice of bread then flopped back against the couch with a sigh of contentment. “Oh wow. That was great.” He turned his gaze onto the chef, with a happy smile. “Thanks, Sanji!”

“You’re welcome.” Still slightly appalled by the amount Luffy had put away, Sanji gave a slight shake of his head.

“Zoro said you were a really good cook. What else can you cook? Can you make fried chicken?” Luffy turned to poke Usopp in the ribs. “We could go shopping again, get some more food for Sanji to cook for lunch.”

“No way.” Zoro reached across from where he was sitting and got hold of Luffy’s ear, tugging him back out of Usopp’s personal space. “He’s not your personal chef, idiot. Be grateful he fed you breakfast, and quit bugging people.”

 “Ow...” Luffy clutched his ear and gave Zoro a reproachful look. “I _said_ thank you.”

“Yeah. And now you’re gonna wash the dishes.” Zoro got to his feet, gathering his and Sanji’s plates and snagging Luffy by the neck of his t-shirt as he stood up. “C’mon.”

 

 

As the two men exited to the kitchen, Luffy still protesting, Sanji sat back a little more comfortably in the armchair. As he stretched his legs out his foot caught a record bag that sat on the floor next to the couch, knocking it over and spilling out its contents. “Oops - ” Sanji sat up, bending forwards to try to retrieve them.

Usopp moved almost simultaneously. “S’okay, that’s just my shit - ”

Sanji helped him gather up the assorted objects from the floor. It was an interesting selection: notebooks, marker pens, a pencil case, flyers for various bands and events, a phone charger, earphones, a set of tiny screwdrivers, gum, bandaids and – most incongrouously – a slingshot. “Here y’go... Sorry about kicking it over.”

“No problem. Nothing in here that will suffer.” Usopp stuffed the things back into the bag with a cheery lack of concern for order.

One notebook, A4 sized, had the word _SKETCHBOOK_  emblazoned on its cover. Sanji was about to hand it to Usopp, then paused. “Your drawings in here? Would it be okay to take a look?”

Usopp gestured carelessly. “Sure, knock yourself out. They’re only rough stuff, though.”

 

 

Sanji opened the stiff-covered book and began leafing through it. After only a few pages he found himself slowing down: focussing on each drawing with full attention.

_Only rough stuff?_

Each page bore a single sketch or a sometimes a series, executed in pencil, inks, even biro. They were of every subject imaginable: people, buildings, landscapes real or imagined. A blurred view of a street through a rain-streaked window. A city skyline silhouetted against a sky on fire with sunset. Two men playing chess in a park, leaning in over their board. A skateboarder taking off a ramp. A hunch-shouldered group of youths in hoodies, their backs all towards the artist.

“Like I said... Just quick sketches, y’know. Nothing serious.” Usopp apparently misinterpreted Sanji’s silence as lack of enthusiasm.

Quickly the chef looked up. “Are you kidding me? These are incredible.”                                

“Nooo... They’re just... Uh...” Usopp perked up somewhat. “You like them?”

Turning over more pages, Sanji nodded emphatically. “I think they’re great. You’re seriously talented.”

Usopp’s face lit up with a smile. “Eh, thanks.”

“You ought to do something with these. Put them online, on DeviantArt or something like that. I bet you’d get a lot of hits.”

“I guess I could.” Usopp scratched his cheek with one finger. “The last year or so I’ve mostly been busy working on Going Merry... I haven’t done much else for a while, except, y’know, sketching. I’ve always got my pad with me.”

 

 

Sanji nodded, still leafing his way through the book. He turned a page and suddenly found himself looking at a page of familiar dark-clothed and barefoot figures, holding shinai. Kendōka, captured in what looked like ink brushwork and pen: bold slices of black and grey, fine intense lines.

Usopp, noticing his attention, leaned over to look at the pages. “Oh, yeah... I asked Zoro a couple of months back if I could go along to his dojo, try drawing the fighters there. Drawing stuff that’s moving fast is a real challenge, trying to get it down in a few lines. Kind of makes you loosen up a lot with your style, y’know?”

Sanji’s eyes travelled over the sketches. Challenging it may have been, but Usopp had still managed to capture in his swirls of brushwork, his carefully placed pen lines, all the movement and fire and focus of kendo. Kendōka caught in mid leap towards each other, their shinai raised; another pair crouched in sonkyo, frozen in stillness; a third sketch of the split second moment as a kendōka’s shinai connected with his opponent. A full page drawing of a group of kendo students stood in rows, looking like an army of terracotta warriors. “Usopp, these are really good. Did you...” Sanji turned over to the next page, and his voice tailed off.

The page was almost filled by a drawing of a single figure, kneeling in seiza. Light reflected from the wooden floor of the dojo, the bright shine almost throwing the figure into silhouette: just enough falling onto the face to show its features. Zoro kneeling, eyes half closed in mokuso. His bōgu in a precise pile just in front of him; his shinai lying on the floor to his left.

Noticing the chef’s attention, Usopp leaned in again. “Eh, that one I was happier with. I had longer to work on it, they were kneeling meditating for quite a while.”

Sanji blinked at the drawing. Following the upright sweep of Zoro’s back. The curve of his hands in his lap, against the dark kendo uniform. The way the light painted shadow along the angle of his jaw; down his neck.

“What I really want to do is draw kendōka actually fighting at a tournament,” Usopp explained. “But I’m not sure how easy that would be. I was thinking maybe take some photos, use them as source material and work up something... Probably using pen and ink wash like these, there’s something about monotone that really works with it - I guess I’ll have to experiment though.”

 

 

Sanji gently put the sketchbook onto the table. “That sounds like a good thing to try.” He turned his gaze onto Usopp. “Uh. Would you... Could I maybe have a copy of this drawing? A photo of it or something?”

“The one of Zoro? Sure, have it.” Usopp picked up the sketchbook. “The pages come out, see - ”

“No, you don’t have to give it to me – just a photo would be fine.” Sanji tried to interrupt the process, but Usopp shook his head.

“Hey, no biggie. Have it.” He carefully detached the leaf from the sketchbook, and held it out to Sanji. “Want me to sign it?” A grin came onto his features. “A genuine Usopp original will fetch millions in years to come.”

“If you want to. But are you sure you really want to give it to me?”

Usopp waved a hand airily. “Consider it payment for feeding me a five star breakfast.” He rummaged in his bag for a pencil, and scribbled his name in one corner of the page, before handing the drawing to Sanji. “There y’go.”

Sanji took it from him, carefully. “Thank you.”

 

 

A thump against the back of his chair was followed by Luffy’s head craning over the chef’s shoulder. “Whatcha doing? Can I see?”

“Nothing.” Sanji turned the drawing face down. “Just looking at some of Usopp’s artwork.”

“He does really cool pictures,” proclaimed Luffy happily, still leaning over the back of the armchair. “You should see the sea monsters he drew for Going Merry, they’re sooo scary.”

Usopp shut his sketchbook and slid it into his bag. “Luffy’s my biggest fan.”

“We’re on the same crew! Right?”

“Right.” Usopp high-fived him. “Pirate posse ruling the waves, sweeping all other gaming competitors before us, striking terror into the hearts of our enemies and kindling desire in the hearts of women with our manly fearlessness.”

“While sitting on the couch playing with your joystick.” Zoro came into view, nudging Luffy off the back of Sanji’s chair. “We’re done in the kitchen.”

“What did you do with the leftovers?” asked Sanji.

Zoro gave him a level look. “There were no leftovers.”

 

 

Luffy let out a sigh. “I wish you’d cooked twice as much.”

“Like that would’ve made a difference.” Zoro snorted. “You guys got plans today?”

“I oughta head home,” replied Usopp. “It’s been cool hanging out and being fed by a genuine chef, but there’s stuff I gotta get on with.”

“I thought we were gonna do some more gaming,” exclaimed Luffy, disappointment already crowding his features.

Usopp tweaked his ear. “We were gaming till like, three this morning. I’m gamed out. ‘Nother time, okay?”

“Mehh...” Luffy made a face. “How about we watch a movie, then? I got a whole lot of new ones from Ace.”

“Things to do, dude.” Usopp stood up, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. “Sanji, s’been nice meeting you. Thanks for breakfast.”

“No problem.” Sanji took the other man’s hand as he held it out. “It was good to meet you too. Thanks for showing me your drawings.”

“Always happy to oblige a serious connoisseur, someone with a real sense of appreciation for true artistic genius.” Usopp gave a bow, before turning to Zoro and exchanging a homie handshake. “Later, man.”

“Take it easy.”

“Always do.” Usopp favoured them all with a farewell grin, before heading out. 

 

 

After Usopp’s departure Luffy wandered off to his room, announcing his attention to try and post photos of his graffiti artwork on every social networking site he could access. Zoro watched him exit with a half-smile. “Once he gets on the internet he’ll be dicking around on there for hours. That ought to mean some peace for the rest of us.”

“You think?” Sanji raised an eyebrow.

Zoro smiled. “Yeah... Well, now you know the force of nature that is Luffy. Embrace the chaos.”

Sanji smiled too. “He’s certainly larger than life.”

“He can be a total pain in the ass. And he has a genius for getting into trouble. Not that that slows him down any.” Zoro gave a half-shake of his head. “He just doesn’t think that rules apply to him.”

Sanji regarded him thoughtfully. “It’s kind of funny. Him being your friend.”

Zoro’s gaze met his. “Because I’m not the kind of person who attracts friends?”

 

 

Sanji rolled his eyes. “Yes. You’re a rude antisocial fuckhead. But that isn’t the point I’m making.”

Eyes narrowing, Zoro held his gaze. “I can’t wait to hear what the actual point is.”

“All I meant was, Luffy just seems a little unlikely to be a friend of yours. I mean, the two of you couldn’t be any more different. Y’know, with your kendo, your work, your attitude to life: you’re pretty seriously focussed. And Luffy is... somewhat random.”

“Yeah, in some ways he is.” Zoro looked thoughtful too. “But when there’s something he cares about, something he believes in... Then he doesn’t quit until he’s done what he thinks needs doing.”

“You said you’d first met him a couple of years ago. When you were... When things were kind of difficult.” Sanji said this carefully.

“Yeah.” Zoro’s eyes narrowed, just a little; but he didn’t look away. “That’s right.”

 

 

Sanji thought about how to word his next question. “How much does Luffy know... about stuff? About the things you talked about with me, on New Year’s Eve?”

Zoro lifted a hand and ran his fingers through his hair, stirring it up. “He knows about what happened to Kuina. I told him and Ace about it, pretty early on.”

“Ace?”

“Luffy’s older brother. He’s a good guy: a little eccentric, but not as crazy as Luffy.”

“So you told them both, about Kuina.”

“Yeah.” Zoro shifted slightly beside him on the couch, his eyes drifting away slightly. “I’d known them a couple of months by then, we’d been hanging out some. The three of us were out at some shitty party somewhere, we were all wasted... I was fucking wasted, anyway. I was pretty much wasted all the time at that point.” He smiled humourlessly. “Anyhow. Luffy asked me, point blank the way he does: something like, Why did I drink so much and take lots of other shit? Because it didn’t seem like I was enjoying it much.” He shrugged. “So I told him why. And one thing kind of led to another, and before I knew it I was telling them about Kuina. It just came spilling out.” His gaze returned to the chef’s. “Kind of like it did with you. Only not quite as bad.”

Sanji held his gaze. “It wasn’t bad, when you told me. Not for me, anyway.”

“Mmhh...” Zoro gave a half-shake of his head. “Anyway. For some reason, Luffy telling me he didn’t see the point of me getting shitfaced on a daily basis made me think. Fuck knows why, other people had tried saying it to me and I just blew them off. Even Koshiro. But Luffy...” He paused for a second, trying to choose his words. “There’s something about Luffy. He’s an impossible guy to say no to. And even if you say it, he doesn’t hear it.”

“Hmm.” Sanji made a sound of agreement. “I can see that.”

 

 

There was a space of quiet. Sanji saw the slight tension around Zoro’s eyes, the way his hands had closed into loose fists. Reaching out he slid his own hand under one of the swordsman’s where it rested on his leg, curling his fingers around it.  “Well... Luffy seems like a good friend to you. So I’m glad to have met him.” Sanji stroked his thumb over the palm of Zoro’s hand, feeling the calluses there. “And speaking of meeting friends... Are you busy next Saturday night?”

“After I’ve finished work? No: I don’t have any plans.”

“My friend Nami suggested the three of us could go to a club, hang out together for a few hours. It’s a cool place: Bembé. They have great music on Saturday nights, and there’s plenty of space for dancing. It’d be fun.”

“Dancing?” Zoro’s face took on a wary look.

“If you want to dance. Or sit and enjoy the music and have a few drinks, whatever.” Sanji smiled encouragingly. “It’s just a cool laid-back sort of a place, lots of room so you can still find a table to sit and talk at if dancing’s really not your thing. Nami said she was looking forward to meeting you.” This wasn’t too massive a stretch of the truth, the chef decided.

 

 

Zoro gave a half-nod. “...Okay. Sure.” His tone didn’t convey absolute enthusiasm, but he did give the chef a smile. “I’d like to meet her, too.”

“Great.” Sanji felt a totally weird mix of relief and apprehension. “I’ll give you the address of the club. You want to meet up there, or go somewhere else for a drink first?”

“Better make it there. I’m teaching classes till early evening at the gym Saturday, I won’t get home much before eight.”

“Fine. Let’s say, nine o’clock at Bembé, then.” Sanji circled his thumb over Zoro’s palm again; shifted his grip slightly, lifting his hand into something approximating a dance hold. “I can give you some salsa dancing lessons, if you like.”

Zoro let his hand be lifted, but grimaced slightly. “No thanks.”

“I’ll make it painless.”

“What part of ‘No thanks’ are you not understanding?”

 

 

Sanji subsided. “All right. I get the message. Dancing, not your thing.”

“Sometimes I dance, if the music’s good and loud. But not that fancy ballroom shit.”

“Salsa’s not difficult. I’m sure even you could master it.”

Zoro’s grip on his hand tightened: Sanji felt himself tugged sideways until his shoulder rested against the swordsman’s. “Cook... I can think of better ways to pass the time.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hell, really didn't mean to leave it so long before posting this chapter. Time just got away from me, a bunch of life and work stuff, the usual, crap, SORRY. Final chapter will be up quicker than this, I promise.
> 
> OK, abject apology over. Believe me when I say I never cease to appreciate the fact that folks out there are reading this stuff and leaving kudos and writing nice comments. Thank you for continuing to share the wacky word party that is my brain.
> 
> Not much in the way of other notes really, just:
> 
> Bordel de merde = French, "holy shit" or "for fuck's sake". Literally "whorehouse of shit". French is a great language for swearing in, my big sis has taught me lots of good phrases. They come in very useful when I need to swear without people knowing what I'm saying (first making sure of course that none of those listening are French speakers).
> 
> Usopp's kendo drawings were inspired by some amazing work I found by artist Alicja Cioch. You can see her 'Art Of Kendo' drawings online here: https://www.behance.net/gallery/2756097/ART-OF-KENDO-drawings


	5. I Like The Way You Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nami leaned over the table towards Zoro. “Sanji is my friend. I like seeing him happy. Dancing is one of the things which make him happy. You are another thing which makes him happy. Get with the programme, Zoro.” 
> 
> Being given orders was one of the many things Zoro didn’t respond well to. “The programme being?”
> 
> “You two getting hot and sweaty and indecently close to each other on that dance floor.” Nami’s smile took on a predatory quality. “Because the way you’ve been looking at him leaves absolutely no doubt that working up a sweat with Sanji is where your mind is going.”

* * *

 

 _I like the way you clap your hands_  
_I like the way you love to dance_  
_I like the way you put your hands up in the air_  
_I like the way you shake your hair_  
_I like the way you like to touch_  
_I like the way you stare so much_  
_But most of all, yeah, most of all_  
_I like the way you move_

_\- Bodyrockers_

 

* * *

 

 

  
 

Sanji set his drink down on the table, then presented the other cocktail glass to Nami with a flourish. “Mademoiselle’s zombie. Enjoy.”

Nami picked up the tall fruit-garnished glass with a smile and took an appreciative sip. “Ahh, wonderful. I can feel the cares of the week slipping away.”

“Is a zombie your new drink of the moment?”

“I felt like a change. Keep them coming until I turn into one.”

“That’ll take some doing.” Sanji took a sip of his mojito. “Please don’t ask me to keep pace with you, I’m somewhat attached to my liver.”

Nami made a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry, I know you’re a lightweight.”

“Not everyone has your superhuman tolerance for alcohol. Fortunately.” Sanji replaced his drink on the table, taking the opportunity to check his phone for messages as he did so. When he looked up again Nami was regarding him with an impish smile. “What?”

“Worried he’s not going to show?” She nodded at his phone. “You’ve been looking at that thing about every two minutes.”

“I have not.” Sanji folded his arms on the table. “Just making sure he hasn’t got lost on the way here.”

 

 

Nami raised an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly hard to find this place.”

“Maybe not for ordinary mortals. But Zoro can be... How shall I put this... Directionally challenged.” Sanji prodded the sprig of fresh mint in his mojito. “I gave him the club address, and presumably he has satnav on his phone. But if he doesn’t show in the next half hour, we may need to send out search parties.”

Nami gave a half-shake of her head. “If he texts to say he’s lost, just tell him to home in on the smell of rum fumes.” She took another drink from her cocktail.

Sanji nodded slowly. Inhaled the fresh clear scent of mint leaves from his fingers. Found himself unexpectedly edgy about the evening ahead.

_Think about something else._

 

 

He gave Nami a smile. “I meant to say thank you, my sweet, for your feedback on my business plan. It was incredibly helpful.”

Nami gave him a stern look. “This is the weekend. Why are we talking about work?”

“Because I need to express my continuing and fulsome gratitude for your help.”

“You can do that by keeping the zombies flowing.”

“I made an appointment to see someone at the bank. And I started searching online for premises.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay. You get to talk about this for five minutes. That’s it.”

“Now I know what I want to do, I’ve got more of an idea of what kind of space I’m going to need. Best case scenario is if I can find somewhere to rent that’s already been used for some kind of catering operation, otherwise I’m going to have to fit it out from scratch... Which could cost a lot.”

“Have you figured out a name yet?”

“Why does everyone seem to think the name’s such a big priority?” Sanji replied, slightly defensively.

“Because it’s going to be part of your brand identity, which is important. Not to mention we need to acquire a domain name for it.” Nami neatly popped a cherry from her drink into her mouth, before gesturing at him with the now-empty cocktail stick. “So get onto it.”

“I have filled four sheets of paper with possibles. Every one of which has been subsequently crossed out.”

“What was that one you emailed me during the week? Global Café?”

“Taken. Also, it’s not really a café: it’s going to be take-out food, remember?”

“Or, Street Eats? I liked that one.”

“Pfff...” Sanji shrugged.

“Just pick something and stick with it.” Nami fished another chunk of fruit out of her glass. “The sooner you actually get out there and start cooking for yourself, the better.”

 

 

“I’ve started figuring out weekly menus. That’s been a lot more fun than ploughing through all the financials.” Sanji brightened. “I’m thinking, start selling late morning, say eleven; run through lunchtime, and finish up late afternoon. That way I should catch the snack food grazers as well as the office crowd and students and tourists needing lunch. Then I’ll have a few hours at the end of the day for clean-up and some prep; and do the rest of the prep the following morning.”

“Are you going to open at weekends?”

“Just Monday to Friday, to start with. I thought if I left weekends free that gives me some time to catch up with paperwork and ordering supplies, that kind of stuff. Plus if I ever do branch out into catering for parties, that’s likely to be mostly weekend work.”

“Will you show me the menus?”

“When they’re ready.” Sanji drew his finger down the side of his glass, drawing a clear track through the beads of condensation there. “They’re still work in progress.”

“You said you were going for a world street foods theme. Is that still what you’re planning to do?”

“Pretty much. I figured, why reinvent the wheel – there are a whole lot of really good traditional street food dishes that are easy to cook. And the ingredients aren’t too expensive, because that kind of food has to be cheap to make. I’m going to play around with them a bit, y’know, put my own spin on them... But it’s good to have a starting point.”

Nami smiled at him, propping her chin on her hand. “Any time you want me to come test out any dishes, let me know.”

“Absolutely. I have a banana and chocolate crêpe recipe with your name on it.”

“Sold.” Nami let out a sigh. “I may have to buy lunch at your stall every day. Make sure you rent a space somewhere near me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

 

 

“You love to cook, and I love to eat your cooking.” Nami nodded. “I feel a little jealous that I’m going to have to share you with other people, though.”

“You’ll forever be the queen of my heart. But we chefs are shameless,” Sanji admitted. “We’ll cook for anyone who appreciates us.”

“Anyone who didn’t appreciate your cooking would have to be mentally impaired,” Nami commented.

“Thank you, _chérie_.” Sanji smiled at her. “Actually, I’m kind of looking forward to getting feedback from people on my food. Cooking at the hotel has been fine, but when you’re working in a kitchen you hardly ever get to see people enjoying what you’ve made. It’ll be different when I’m doing it out there on the street.” A memory of the gargantuan breakfast he’d prepared the previous weekend surfaced, and he let out a laugh. “I’m up for the challenge. After the kitchen I had to contend with a few days ago, working in my own space will be a pleasure. I hope.”

 

 

Nami regarded him quizzically. “The hotel skimping on hardware as well as staff?”

“No... This was at Zoro’s place. I stayed over Sunday night, and wound up making breakfast for everyone the next morning.”

“ ‘Everyone’ being..?”

“Zoro and two of his friends. Who had laid in enough groceries to feed a small nation, in hopes that they would get a gourmet breakfast from yours truly. Which I delivered, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Nami agreed. “But I hope they weren’t taking advantage of your uncontrollable compulsion to feed people. Because that would be a bad thing.”

“It was fine. A little challenging finding anything resembling decent cookware in that craphole excuse for a kitchen at their place, but I rose magnificently to the occasion. They were suitably awed and impressed.” Sanji took a sip of his drink.

“They ought to be, getting breakfast cooked for them by a professional chef.”

“They were pretty nice about it. Leaving your lovely self aside, I don’t think I’ve ever cooked a meal for someone who enjoyed my food as much as Zoro’s roomie, Luffy. He takes jonesing for food to a new level.”

“So his friends were okay?”

“Yeah. The other guy, Usopp, does amazing artwork. And Luffy’s... entertaining.”

“In what way?”

Sanji considered for a moment. “Enough enthusiasm to power the national grid. Coupled with the attention span of a sugar-crazed six year-old. And the ability to make frightening quantities of food disappear.”

“O-kay...” Nami swirled her drink round in its glass. “Not sold on him so far.”

“I thought he was a total pain in the ass at first. But you kind of warm to him, after the shock of first contact wears off.”

 

 

“So where does Zoro live?”

“Powell Street.”

Nami wrinkled her nose slightly. “Not exactly an up and coming neighbourhood.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“If you say so.” Nami stirred her drink. “I guess working in a gym doesn’t pay too well. What does his friend Luffy do?”

“Online gaming.”

Nami raised an eyebrow. “As a job?”

“Apparently it brings in enough money to pay rent. He and Usopp set up this wacky pirate-themed online game, it gets enough people playing to generate both of them some kind of income.”

“Pirates? Ugh.” Nami rolled her eyes. “Fanboy weirdness. Does he collect figurines?”

“Not noticeably.”

“He sounds like a total slacker.”

“Each to their own, my sweet.” Sanji gave her a smile.

On the table between them, his phone suddenly lit up as a text landed. Sanji reached out and picked it up. “Ah... Zoro’s here.”

“Great.” Nami took a sip of her drink.

 

 

 

 

 

In fact, Zoro had gotten as far as what seemed to be the main space of the club, which was already crowded, half-lit and thumping with the beat of loud music. All of which combined to make finding Sanji somewhere within it something of a challenge. Zoro lifted his phone and read the text that had just landed in reply to his own: _‘we’re at the back near the beach’_

Frowning slightly he gazed around the space, unable see much except clubbers and an active dance floor. Holding his phone he typed  _‘beach??’_ , as he pushed his way through the crowd.

 _‘mural idiot’_  was the instant reply. Zoro scowled at it, before looking up again. Clubbers, tables, seating, a long bar – then he saw it. Towards the back of the room, a wall painted with a colourful scene of a tropical beach at sunset, compete with palm trees. And in front of it a slightly raised level with several seating areas. Where Sanji was just visible, his hand raised.

 

 

Zoro changed direction and homed in on the chef, threading his way through people. As he got closer Sanji rose from his chair and waited for him with a smile. “Hey.”

Zoro found a smile coming onto his own face. The noise and crowd of the club suddenly seemed a lot less when he was looking at the chef, who was dressed in a dark purple shirt open at the neck and black jeans that clung satisfyingly close to those long legs. He took a moment to appreciate the view. “Hey.”

Only Sanji’s left eye was visible from under the fringe that fell across his face, but it narrowed slightly as he noticed Zoro’s attention... And then one corner of his mouth hitched up a little higher. “You found it okay, then.”

Zoro stepped up to the table. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Sanji let out a snort, evidently deciding not to respond to that one. He leaned in to Zoro just long enough to give him a kiss, his hand resting briefly on the other man’s arm: Zoro caught the chef’s smell, smoky and warm and fresh, just for instant. Then Sanji was stepping back, revealing the table behind him. “C’mon and sit down. Nami, this is Zoro. Zoro: Nami.”

 

 

Zoro turned to the table. And was met by the steady gaze of a young woman with flame-orange hair, her mouth curved in a slightly provocative smile. She finished taking a sip of her drink; set down her glass and leaned forward with both arms folded on the table. “Hi, Zoro.”

Those brown eyes were big and dark and innocent and Zoro distrusted them instantly. “Hi.”

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Sanji’s been telling me all about you.”

“Likewise.”

Nami’s smile grew a little. “All of it good, I hope.”

“As if I would say anything bad about you.” Sanji gestured across the table. “Your drink’s nearly gone. Another one, my lovely?”

“Yes, please.”

 

 

“I’ll get them.” Zoro had an urge to seek out the bar. He looked at Nami. “What’re you drinking?”

“A zombie.”

“How about you?” Zoro looked at Sanji.

“I’m okay. I’ve still got some of this left.” The chef raised his own glass, which appeared to have half a shrubbery swilling around in it.

“Right.” Zoro was about to go when Nami spoke again.

“Hey, why not get a pitcher. That way we don’t have to keep going up to the bar.” She smiled up at him.

“Yeah. I’ll do that.” He left before she could suggest anything else.

 

 

At the bar he ordered the drinks and mentally added up the night’s expenses. Bus fare here, club entry, probably sharing a cab home afterward. And some weird cocktail by the gallon.

_Why are drinks in clubs so fucking expensive? It’s the same damn alcohol you can buy in a corner shop for a tenth of the price._

The bartender, a slender dark woman with dreadlocked hair tied back under a colourful headscarf, placed a large pitcher of lurid orange drink with assorted fruit salad bobbing in it on a tray on the bar. “There y’go. Zombie pitcher. Anything else?”

“You got any decent rum?” Zoro wasn’t in the mood for beer, and his cursory scan of the bar hadn’t located anything else promising.

The bartender regarded him, unphased. “White, gold or dark?”

“Dark.”

She turned away, moving to the racks of bottles at the back of the bar. Returned and set a glass with an inch of caramel-coloured spirit in it on the tray. “Doorly X.O. That’s our best dark rum. Want ice with it?”

“No. Thanks.” As far as Zoro was concerned, ice in drinks just got in the way.

“Anything else I can get you?”

“That’s everything.”

“Then that’s thirty-two dollars, all together.”

 

 

Zoro paid and picked up the tray, before heading back through the crowd to the table by the far wall. He set down the jug in front of Nami, slid his own drink onto the table, and finally sat down. Across the table Sanji caught his eye and smiled at him, lifting his own glass. “Well, here’s to Saturday night, the end of yet another very long working week. _Santé._ ”

Zoro lifted his own glass and chinked rims with the chef’s; Sanji then did the same with Nami, who in turn clinked her refilled cocktail glass against Zoro’s. They all drank, before setting their glasses down with a universal sigh. Zoro felt the rum go down with a nice smooth burn that went a long way to improving his mood.

Nami leaned towards him slightly, inspecting his glass. “What’s that?”

“Rum.”

“You’re a straight-up kind of guy, huh?” She stuck her nose over his glass and inhaled. “Mmm, Doorly X.O... Yum.”

Zoro found his hand tightening its grip slightly on his drink. “You like rum?”

She grinned. “I like drinking.”

 

 

Sanji snorted. “You two have something in common. An abnormal ability to consume obscene amounts of alcohol with no apparent ill effects.”

“It’s a useful talent, in some situations.” Nami stuck her tongue out at him, before turning her attention back to Zoro. “So, Sanji tells me you’re a personal trainer at Flex.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been meaning to join a gym... Could you get me a good deal on membership?”

“There’s a bunch of New Year membership packages still running. You could check those out.”

Nami smiled at him. “Yeah... But I’ll bet you could find a way to make the package even better value.”

Zoro met her encouraging smile with a steady look. “Not that I can think of.”

 

 

“You want to join a gym?” Sanji leaned over the table. “I didn’t think you were into that kind of stuff. Tell me you haven’t suddenly developed an urge to start pumping iron.”

Nami wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. All those sweaty muscle-fixated no-necks wallowing in testosterone, no thanks. But some of the classes might be fun. Dance aerobics, that kind of stuff.”

“Zoro teaches some classes at Flex,” Sanji commented.

Nami looked at the swordsman. “Oh, you teach dance?”

“No.” Zoro shook his head. “Mostly strength and circuit training.”

“And you were teaching that Qigong class, the other week. That looked cool.” Sanji nodded at Nami. “You should go check it out.”

“What’s Qigong? It sounds like that thing where you rearrange all your furniture to balance cosmic energy, or whatever.”

“That’s feng shui,” responded Sanji.

“Does it involve chanting or doing weird breathing while holding one nostril closed? I went to this yoga class one time and it was _seriously_   annoying. I barely got out of there without smacking someone to see if they’d go _Ommm_ when I hit them.”

Sanji propped his chin on one hand. “I take it that you didn’t feel your consciousness expanding.”

“If I wanted to expand my consciousness, I wouldn’t be here drinking zombies.” Nami smirked. “When I want to get with the universal flow, I go dancing. Speaking of which... I love this track. Let’s get onto the dance floor.” She set her glass on the table and stood up, pushing back her chair.

 

 

Sanji stood too, then looked at Zoro. “Coming with?”

Zoro shook his head, but gave him a smile. “I’m good here for a while.”

“Okay... We won’t be long.” Sanji smiled too, then cast a glance at Nami, who was already heading through the crowd. “They’ve got someone good on decks tonight, playing a whole lot of funky stuff.” He looked back at Zoro. “Sure you don’t want to hit the floor with us?”

“Later.” Zoro nodded after Nami. “Have fun.”

With a parting smile, Sanji turned and followed in Nami’s wake.

Left at the table, Zoro picked up his glass and took another mouthful of rum. Let his gaze drift around the club. The place seemed to have some kind of tropical Latin American theme, as far as he could judge. As well as the beach mural near the table he was sitting at, there were colourful paintings of musicians, carnival dancers, and a piece covering almost an entire wall of a crowd partying, bearing the slogan _¡VIVA LA REVOLUCION!_

 

 

The music was picking up tempo: a lot of drumbeat and brass over the vocals, the dance floor starting to pack out as more people headed over there. For half a minute or so Zoro couldn’t see Sanji: then he spotted the chef, or rather first he spotted Nami’s flame-coloured hair as she danced through a spotlight, arms raised. Then Sanji was opposite her, the two of them moving together, laughing, carried by the rhythm. They looked totally at home out there with each other, letting it all hang out on Saturday night, easy, free. Then the dancing crowd shifted and he lost them from view.

Zoro took another mouthful of rum. It didn’t bother him, sitting here on his own for a while. This place was okay: lively without being obnoxious, the music had at least got a good beat to it, and the rum had just enough burn that it felt good going down. In fact, it was going down so easily he was going to need another one pretty soon. Which actually was okay, because if he went back to the bar while Sanji and Nami were still dancing, he wouldn’t wind up having to buy another pitcher of fruity crap for her.

 

 

His gaze fell on Nami’s glass. It was empty, Sanji’s comment that she could sink alcohol in quantity apparently being an accurate one. Zoro had no problem with women who liked to drink, as long as they bought their fair share of drinks. He wondered if Nami was used to being paid for by Sanji. Probably, given the chef’s obsession with chivalry towards anyone with two X chromosomes. Which might explain why she’d hit on Zoro for a cut-rate gym membership.

_Well, she’s shit out of luck on that one._

Not that Zoro was in a position to be cutting his friends deals where he worked, but even if he was Nami wouldn’t be first in line.

_Wonder how she and Sanji met?_

He watched the dance floor and sipped rum until his glass was empty, then went for a refill.

 

 

After a few tracks Sanji moved to the edge of the dance floor, shifting easily through the moving clubbers. Nami’s hand caught his. “Hey, where are you going? We only just got out here!”

“The night is young, and there will be many opportunities for dancing. Which I fully intend to take advantage of. But I’m just gonna take a breather.”

She snuggled against him from behind, hooking her chin over his shoulder. “Oh yeah, I bet breathing is exactly what you’ll be doing. Or something else involving your mouth.”

Sanji grinned, letting her hug enfold him for a moment. “Maybe. It has been almost an entire week since I last saw him.”

“Just promise me you’ll save the really hot groping till I can get back and watch.”

“If you wanted a floor show we should’ve gone to a different club.” Sanji gave her arms a squeeze, then extricated himself. “See you in a little while.”

“Okay.” Nami kissed him on the cheek, before disappearing back into the dancing throng.

 

 

When Sanji returned to the table by the wall, Zoro was sitting gazing out into the club. His eyes found the chef as he approached: Sanji gave him a smile as he slid down into a seat. “Hey. Enjoying taking in the view?”

A smile came to Zoro’s face too and he nodded, his eyes resting on the chef. “Yeah. Seems like a cool place.”

Sanji rested one elbow on the back of his seat. “It is. They usually have really good people on the music here, you get all kinds: lots of Latin and salsa beat for sure, but other stuff too... Afro Caribbean, old-school samba, hip hop, funk, reggae, whatever. That’s why we like coming here, y’know? Pulls in a real mixed crowd.”

“You and Nami come here a lot?”

“When we can, yeah. I haven’t exactly been Mr Sociable for a while... But it’s good to get out dancing again.”

“You both looked like you were having a good time.”

“Yeah.” Sanji regarded the swordsman; let his arm uncurl slightly, until his hand rested on Zoro’s. “Want to come out there next time and have a good time with me?” He let his fingers stroke against the warmth of Zoro’s skin.

 

 

Zoro smiled again. “Maybe.”

Sanji nodded. Kept his fingers stroking slowly, enjoying the contact. Enjoying just looking at the other man. Zoro’s dark blue t-shirt and black combat pants looked sober in contrast with the more colourfully-dressed clubbers around them, but Sanji didn’t have a problem with that. Especially not with the way Zoro’s shoulders filled that shirt out, or how the v-neck dipped just enough over his collarbones.

_I wonder if anyone here would mind if I ripped your clothes off you right now._

Maybe it was the buzz of the mojito and the pulse of the music and the end of his working week all working together, but right now Sanji felt pretty damn good. And right in the gooey centre of that goodness was Zoro; sitting there smiling with his stupid green hair and his three gold earrings, looking like some punk pirate who’d washed ashore on the tropical island pictured in the mural behind them.

 

 

He became aware that Zoro was speaking. “Huh?”

“I just asked if you want another drink. Are you spacing out, cook?”

“No. I’m fine.” Sanji gave a slight shake of his head. “Just... enjoying the moment.”

“Want to share what you were thinking about? Must’ve been good, you had the stupidest grin on your face.”

Sanji felt a slight flush rising under his skin. “Not really.”

Zoro regarded him for a moment... Before one corner of his mouth lifted slyly. “Want me to guess?”

“No,” Sanji responded decisively. He picked up his drink to have something to distract himself with, raising it to his mouth before he realised it was almost empty. Letting out a _tchh_ of annoyance he replaced the glass on the table.

 

 

“Yeah, that’s why I offered to buy you another,” commented Zoro.

“There’s no hurry.” Sanji looked at him. “Anyway, you bought the drinks last time. Let me get these.”

“Whatever, cook.” Zoro shrugged slightly.

Sanji still had his arm resting along the back of the seat, his fingers barely touching the back of Zoro’s hand. Holding the swordsman’s gaze with his own, he moved his hand a little higher, letting his thumb circle against Zoro’s wrist. “How’s your week been?”

Zoro grunted. “Pretty mundane. Which was okay; it’s been full-on at the gym since New Year, with all the newbies joining up.” He turned his arm slightly, bringing his hand palm-up; Sanji felt the slow stroke of the swordsman’s calloused fingers against his forearm. “How’s life in your crazy hotel kitchen?”

“Insane. With a side order of chaos.” Sanji let his head rest back against the seat. “We’re still a chef down... Today’s lunch service was a killer. But on the plus side, I’m getting even more motivated to set up my own place so I can get the hell out of there.”

 

 

Zoro nodded. “Keep your eyes on the prize.”

“Yeah.” Sanji was quiet for a moment. Watching the other man. “And this helps.” Zoro’s eyes lifted to his. “Y’know, a night out. And seeing you again falls into the realm of pleasurable.”

Zoro lifted an eyebrow. “Thanks... I think.”

Sanji gave him a slow smile. “Know how you could improve my evening further?”

A smile grew on Zoro’s own face. He leaned over, Sanji meeting him halfway: and then they were kissing, Zoro’s lips warm on his with the spicy taste of rum.

It was all kinds of good and kept going just long enough for Sanji to temporarily forget they were in a nightclub surrounded by a couple of hundred other people. When they drew apart again he breathed in and the music from the dance floor faded back up. His arm lay along Zoro’s, his hand resting on the swordsman’s shoulder. “Mm, yeah. Definitely an improvement.”

His lips tingled pleasantly. Zoro was still close. _What the hell._ Sanji leaned in again, going for a second hit. Which was every bit as enjoyable as the first, the two of them getting somewhat engrossed until Nami’s low chuckle penetrated his brain. At which point they sat upright, hands sliding off each other.

 

 

“Oh hey, guys - don’t stop on my account.” Nami dropped into her seat, grinning. “It was just getting interesting.”

Sanji fixed her with a look. “I thought you were dancing.”

“I was. And now I’m drinking.” She picked up the cocktail pitcher and poured her glass full. “Seriously, don’t mind me. You two just carry on with whatever it was you were doing.”

Sanji gave a half shake of his head, before getting to his feet and picking up his empty glass from the table. “I’m going to the bar.” He looked at the swordsman. “Same again?” Zoro nodded. “Okay. Back soon.”

 

 

Zoro watched Sanji walk away, appreciating the way those tight jeans moved... Then became aware that Nami was gazing at him. He turned his eyes onto her. “What?”

She touched the corner of her mouth. “Tiny bit of drool, there.”

Zoro gave a snort. Nami’s grin widened wickedly. “No criticism intended. If you hadn’t checked out his ass that would have been a wasted opportunity.” She swirled the liquid in her glass around, then took a sip. “If he wasn’t my best friend I’d be checking it out too.”

Zoro sat back a little in his seat. “You guys have been friends a while, I take it.”

She nodded. “Three years.”

“You meet through work or something?”

“Through his work, yeah. I was eating at a restaurant, a place where Sanji used to cook. Or I was trying to eat, anyway: in between fending off this extremely annoying creep who seemed to think taking a woman out for a meal entitled him to comprehensive groping rights. I was seriously considering stabbing him with my cake fork when Sanji came over and persuaded him to take his grabby fingers elsewhere.”

“How’d he do that?”

“It involved extremely hot coffee and sensitive areas.” Nami assumed a beatific smile. “It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

 

 

Zoro found himself smiling. He could pretty well imagine the scene. “Did Sanji still have a job afterwards?”

“Yes. It was all done very discreetly.” She gave him a sidelong look. “Unlike what happened at New Year, from what I heard.”

“What did you hear?”

“Big bar fight, which he helped you win. And which got him fired.”

“That about covers it. Apart from the helping me win part,” Zoro replied.

“Mm-hmm.” She raised one eyebrow briefly. “And something about a bottle being possibly inserted into your head. Which, okay, harsh: I mean, your hair isn’t _that_ offensive a fashion statement that it deserves radical surgery.”

 

 

Zoro considered several different replies to that. And elected to go with, “Glad you think so.” He let a beat of silence fall, before turning the conversation in another direction. “So, Sanji said you work in travel, or something like that.”

“Uh huh. I organise personalised tours for people: flights, accommodation, excursions, the whole package. Plus I’ve created a website for travellers, showing where you can go for eating out, clubs, shopping, whatever.” She reached back into her hip pocket: dug out her smartphone and thumbed across its screen, before holding it out. “See?”

A bright and clean-designed image of a global map under the logo _U R HERE_ lit up the screen. Nami’s thumb touched the map, which zoomed in. “You can pick a country, or a city: then follow the links under each category. It shows you possible itineraries for whatever your vacation time is, different places you can take in, must-see locations, and things more off the beaten track. And you can customise it for different people: like if you’re on a low budget, or a lone woman traveller. Plus it links to other travel sites like Trip Advisor and Thorn Tree, in case you want to check out reviews for places.” She demonstrated with a flick of her forefinger across the screen. “And there’s an app you can download, save your itinerary and hit list, so you don’t need to be someplace with internet access to have your info.”

 

 

“Sounds pretty clever.” Computers weren’t Zoro’s thing, but it did look impressive. “You set all that up yourself?”

“Yeah.” Nami slid her phone back into her pocket. “Using other people to get this stuff done just winds up being a time-waster, you have to explain what you want and then they still wouldn’t get it right. I just figured out how to do it myself. It wasn’t hard... I’d already been working online for a while, so I knew a lot about web design and customer interface.”

“Sanji said you had plenty of work coming in.”

She nodded. “I’m really busy. Which is great.”

“So do you get to travel a lot yourself, researching these places for your business?”

A slightly wry smile came onto Nami’s face. “Not so much. Right now, I’ve got a lot of work stuff that I have to do... I can’t really take off somewhere. But I’d like to, at some point. That’s kind of a dream for the future. Just jump on a ship heading somewhere warm and see where I wind up.”

“Sounds like a good dream.”

 

 

Nami’s gaze drifted away; and just for a moment her smile diminished. Then she gave her head a slight shake, and looked back at Zoro. And her smile had revived. “Yeah, big dreams. Which means working my ass off till I can afford them. How about you? Sanji said you were into kendo, fighting tournaments and stuff. Is that your big thing?”

“Pretty much.”

“How long’ve you been doing it?”

“Since I was sixteen.”

“Presumably that means you’re pretty good.” She raised an enquiring eyebrow.

“I do okay.”

“Can you get prize money for winning?”

“No.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She grinned, taking a sip of her drink. “I saw it on TV once. Kind of weird get-up. Like, _Star Wars_ meets _Game Of Thrones_. Is it hard to fight in?”

“You get used to it.” Zoro wasn’t entirely sure if she was trying to be annoying.

 

 

Nami looked at him over her drink. “I asked Sanji what it was like watching the tournament last weekend, but he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the details. You did more than just okay: _that_   I picked up. Plus I think he may now have a serious kink for kendo uniforms, so you should take full advantage of that.”

Zoro raised one eyebrow. “He told you that?”

Nami laughed. “No. I worked it out for myself, watching the way his eyes glazed over when he was describing it.” She propped her chin on one hand. “It sounded like he had a good time, anyway. And coming out dancing tonight, that’s great too – it’s been an age since I managed to get him just to hang out and enjoy himself. Sanji’s been on kind of a downer for a while, it’s really good to see him happy.” Her eyes switched to him. “And the way he’s decided to finally pick up and run with this idea of setting up his own business... That’s the best thing that could’ve happened. He’s way too good a chef to keep slumming in dead-end temporary catering jobs. It’ll be really good for him, doing his own thing.”

 

 

Zoro nodded, folding his own arms on the table. “Seems like a good idea.”

“I get the impression you encouraged him to go for it.” Nami toyed with her drink, circling the glass and watching the cocktail swirl around within. “Is that right?”

Zoro shrugged. “He was bitching about how difficult it was to find a good job as a chef. All I said to him was, why not set up on your own. Just do it.”

“As easy as that.” The corner of Nami’s mouth hitched up wryly. “ ‘Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it.’ ”

“Huh?”

“Goethe.” Nami rested her head against the back of the seat, lifting one hand as she declaimed, “ ‘Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. Begin it now.’ ” She let her hand fall. “One of the very few useful things I read when I did philosophy class for a term at college. Boy, was I glad when _that_ course was over. Business studies seemed thrilling by comparison.”

“Is college where you learned how to do all the computer stuff too?”

“Kind of... I’d already been doing some online work for other people, but I wanted to be able to do my own thing, get independent. So I went to night school, got a degree in Business Administration with Information Technology that way. It took me four years but it was totally worth it. How about you – what did you major in?”

 

 

Zoro gave a slightly wry smile. “Getting by.”

“Eh?”

Nami looked quizzically at him, and Zoro gave a half-shake of his head. “I kind of skipped the whole formal education thing, pretty much. I did some phys ed courses a few years back, which is all I need for the work I do now.”

“So you never went to college?” Zoro shook his head again. “Don’t you want to? Night school’s a good way to do it, if you have a job. I mean, for sure you have to work a lot of hours, but it’s worth it in the end...”

“I don’t have the money to do it. And the time I have when I’m not working, I do kendo.” Zoro was used to people finding his lack of education a deficiency that ought to be fixed. “I don’t need a degree or any of that academic stuff. I get by fine without it.”

“Okay, sure. But to get a better pay-check it seriously helps if you’re a graduate, in my experience.”

“Maybe.” Zoro shrugged. “I’ve got no problem finding work. And I earn enough to pay the bills. That’s all that matters.”

 

 

Nami took a sip of her drink. “That’s all well and good till something unexpected happens – like getting laid off, or you have an accident and can’t work, or you have to deal with some big unexpected expense. Being short of money in this world is not fun. The smart thing is to earn as much as you can, as fast as you can, and make sure you have something saved for a rainy day.”

“That’s your strategy, I take it.” Zoro supposed that was okay for those who could manage it. “How’s your rainy day fund coming along?”

“Always working on it.” Nami’s eyes rested on her glass. “It never rains but it pours.”

Zoro smiled. “Long as you can stay afloat, that’s not a problem.”

“Uh-huh. Keep on swimming.” Nami looked at him, an answering smile on her face.

 

 

“Who’s going swimming?” Sanji was suddenly back from the bar, sliding smoothly in to a seat beside her and neatly placing Zoro’s drink and his own on the table.

Nami looked at him. “All of us. Metaphorically.”

“Metaphorically is no fun. Unless it involves you in a metaphorical bikini, in which case: keep on talking, I’m all ears.”

“Pervert.” Nami smacked him on the arm. “Drink your mojito.”

Sanji picked up his glass, wincing slightly. “I retract my previous comment. How did swimming, metaphorical or otherwise, come up in conversation?”

“We were talking about my work. Travel stuff.” Nami picked up her own drink and took a sip.

“How’s that all going? I assume you’re busy, as ever.”

“Maxed out. Which is good.” Nami gave a shrug. “And let’s not talk about work any more this evening.”

“Your wish is my command.” Sanji mimed zipping his mouth shut.

 

 

Zoro was impressed by Nami’s ability to get the chef to do what she wanted.

_Wonder if she could give me some tips._

Sanji and Nami were leaning their heads together now, laughing, Nami poking the chef in the ribs. And as Sanji laughed Zoro was struck by how good being happy looked on him.

Smiling himself, Zoro picked up his glass and took a mouthful of rum. Savoured the warm burn of it, all the way down.

 

 

 

 

The evening wore on: the club grew even more busy, the volume of both the music and the clubbers rising. Whoever was on the decks evidently felt like a mood change, and the tracks began hitting a strong Latin beat: at their table Nami perked up. “Oh hey, great – let’s get out there!” She tugged Sanji’s elbow, getting to her feet. “C’mon.” Her gaze travelled to Zoro too. “Coming to shake some bootie?”

Zoro regarded the dance floor, which was filling with paired-up dancers doing complicated things in time to the music’s rhythms. “Later.”

Nami looked back at Sanji. “Shall we show everyone out there how it ought to be done?”

Sanji smiled at her. “Absolutely.” But his eyes glanced back to Zoro. “You sure you don’t want to..?”

Zoro nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine just watching, right now.”

 

 

Sanji and Nami threaded their way onto the crowded dance floor. Zoro watched the chef extend a hand to his friend: Nami take it, with a wide smile. And then they slid into the music and were dancing, claiming the space. Some of the clubbers on the dance floor were just moving in time to the beat; some, like Sanji and Nami, were making with the salsa moves. Zoro recognised them from the Latin aerobics classes he’d seen others teaching at the gym. He’d never had the slightest urge to learn how to do any of that stuff himself... But watching Sanji now, he almost wished he had.

The chef and Nami moved in unison, that fluid and swift grace that only came with familiarity. His hand sliding from her hip to her hand: letting her out as she spun around, then bringing her back. Feet stepping quickly, the two dancers travelling on the beat. Circling each other, breaking apart, coming back together.

A memory rose in Zoro’s mind: of watching Sanji working at the bar in the club on New Year’s Eve. Of how his gaze had been drawn to the way the chef moved. The stretch of his body when he reached up to a high shelf. The flex of his wrist as he poured a drink. When he joined in the fight there, how that fluidity had turned to swiftness and steel.

 

 

Now he was watching Sanji dance like water flowing. Like sun reflecting off waves: flash and flicker and glimpses of fire. And more than the way the chef moved, the look he had on his face. Right there, in the moment, alight with life.

There was a sensation like vertigo in Zoro’s chest. Like looking over the edge of a high place. Or maybe he’d drunk too much rum too fast. He looked down at his glass and it still had a half-inch of amber alcohol left in it. Mentally he checked in with himself: feeling okay. A little buzzed, sure; but not too much. Just enough to let go of the week and relax, enjoy the music and let the noise of the crowd around him blur into background, watch the clubbers go by, watch the dance floor...

...And he was watching Sanji again and this time he knew how he was feeling had nothing to do with the rum.

 

 

Four dances later Sanji was starting to sweat. He mimed drawing one hand across his forehead at Nami, before signalling with a nod that he was leaving the dance floor. She came with him, still moving in rhythm to the music. “Ahhh, that was great... I could dance all night.”

“It was fun, yeah... Getting a little crowded, though.”

“That just means you have to dance closer together.” She winked at him. “Not such a bad thing.”

They reached their table, where Sanji dropped into the seat next to Zoro and reached for his mojito. “Crap... My ice has melted.”

 

 

One corner of Zoro’s mouth lifted. “That’s what happens when you ruin a perfectly good drink by adding frozen water to it.”

Sanji took a sip of his cocktail and found it was still cool enough to sooth his dance-fevered brow. “I should’ve guessed that you disapprove of ice cubes. Is that on the basis that they take up valuable space in the glass that could be occupied by alcohol?”

“There’s actual alcohol in there?” Zoro peered mock-critically at Sanji’s glass. “How’d they fit it in round all the garden trimmings?”

Sanji removed a leaf from his glass and held it up. “This is mint,” he proclaimed, enunciating slowly and clearly as if to the hard-of-understanding. “Mint is a herb. Herbs are used to add flavour.” He waved the little leaf at Zoro. “And look, it’s green. Your favourite colour.”

 

 

Across the table, Nami chuckled. “Boys, play nice.”

Sanji dropped the mint back into his glass. “I’m always nice. It’s this uncouth moss-head sitting with us who lowered the tone.”

“Well, I’m raising it again.” Nami said this decisively. “I don’t mind watching the two of you smooch, but I draw the line at listening to you squabble. I’ve just enjoyed dancing my ass off, let me bask in the afterglow.”

Sanji smiled at her.  “Your wish is my command. Thank you for the pleasure of sharing those dances with me, o gorgeous one.”

Nami propped one elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “Mmm... Bask, bask.”

 

 

Zoro spoke up. “You both looked pretty impressive out there.”

Sanji looked at him, ready to retort if the comment had been a prelude to more sarcasm. But the expression he caught on Zoro’s face was unexpected. Not a mocking grin, but genuine appreciation. It disarmed him: he almost didn’t know what to reply. “...Thanks.”

Nami picked up her drink. “You think we were just ‘pretty impressive’? Hmm. We must be slipping.” Her eyes lifted mischievously to Zoro. “Or maybe you weren’t watching closely enough. That seems unlikely, though.”

The low club lighting made it hard to tell for sure, but Sanji thought he saw a slight flush come onto the other man’s face. Which was somewhat gratifying. “Next time you can get out there with me.”

“Not doing that kind of stuff.” Zoro’s brows raised slightly. “You two were making with some serious moves. Did you go to dance classes or something?”

 

 

Nami nodded. “I did, a few years back. Primo place to meet hot guys.”

Sanji smiled. “I’ve always danced.” At Zoro’s look, he shrugged. “Since forever. I like music. And when I’ve worked in places like big hotels there’s always a dance floor or ballroom somewhere, and people around who can dance. Working in kitchens you meet a lot of folks from different cultures, different musical traditions... I learned how to tango from an Argentinian _maître d_ , Mariza. She could _really_ move.”

“Remember that time we went to Heat and almost won the danceathon?” Nami grinned.

“We were robbed. It was only those other dancers bringing their fan club with them, that got the audience on their side.”

Zoro snorted. “You sure they weren’t just overwhelmed by the weirdness of your eyebrows, cook?”

Sanji gave him a look. “Bite me.”

Nami’s yelp made them both flinch. “That’s it!”

Both men turned their heads and regarded her with equal amounts of incomprehension. Sanji was the first to speak. “That’s what?”

“The name. For your business! It’s perfect.” Nami was grinning. “Why didn’t I think of it before?”

Sanji’s brow furrowed. “And that perfect name would be..?”

“You just said it.” Nami spread one hand as if presenting him with something. “ ‘Bite Me’.”

 

 

There was a moment of comparative silence, as all three of them considered her words. Then Sanji said slowly, “You think?”

“I think.” Nami nodded decisively. “It’s short and snappy, it fits with food, and it’s got attitude.” She snapped her fingers. “Okay, done. I’ll track down a domain name tomorrow. Chances are dot-com will be already owned by someone but I’ll bet I can acquire it for a good price. Leave it with me.”

Sanji looked at Zoro. “What do you think?”

Zoro shrugged. “It’s short. Easy to remember. Plus it’s not as lame as any of the other names you told me about.”

Sanji’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Thank you for that resounding vote of approval.”

“It’s fine, cook. Anyway, what are you asking me for? Nami’s the one who knows all about this marketing stuff.”

“Because I want to know if you think it’s a good name,” Sanji said this patiently, hoping the other man would get it. Because he didn’t want to have to spell it out.

_I care what you think._

Zoro regarded him steadily for a moment. Then one corner of his mouth lifted. “Yeah. I think it’s a good name.”

 

 

Sanji felt a little warm internal glow at this. “Okay.”

Nami leaned over the table, beaming at them both. “So that’s settled. Sanji’s new business is officially launched.” She raised her glass, summoning both of them with a tilt of her chin to do the same. “Here’s to the success of _Bite Me_. May this be the start of something totally awesome, and the beginning of Sanji’s inevitable rise to chef superstardom.”

Their glasses clinked together; they each took a drink, then set them back on the table. Sanji let out a slight sigh. “Success would be nice. Superstardom I’m not so fixated on.”

“I’ll be your agent,” Nami offered.

Sanji smiled, heartened as ever by his friend’s enthusiastic support. “Great. Then I’ll leave it in your capable hands.” His gaze fell on Zoro, who was watching him. “Hey, maybe once I’m famous and rich we can work out some kind of kendo sponsorship deal.”

Zoro let out a grunt, a wry smile coming onto his own face. “Maybe you should make your first million before deciding how to spend it.”

“You’re no fun.” Sanji knew the swordsman was right, but right now it felt good to dream a little. “I need a cigarette.” He got to his feet, pushing his chair under the table. “Back in a few.”

“You want another drink?” Zoro nodded at his empty glass.

“Yeah. Get me another one of those. With plenty of ice.” Sanji smirked, before turning and threading his way through the crowd.

 

 

Zoro watched the chef go, before picking up his own drink and finishing it. Looking round, he noticed that the cocktail pitcher on the table was almost empty. Trying not to think about his similarly emptying wallet, he nodded towards it while speaking to Nami. “Refill?”

She glanced at the pitcher, then back to him. A slight smile quirked her mouth. “No. I’ll finish what’s there... But just get me a rum, straight up. Doorly X.O.” Her smile widened. “I’ve been sitting here inhaling the fumes from yours, it’s been making me salivate.”

“Sure.” Zoro stood up. “Ice with it?”

“Hell no.” She gave a decisive shake of her head. “Make it a double.”

 

 

When he returned to their table with the three drinks, Nami was sitting tapping at something on her smartphone, evidently messaging someone. She looked up as he sat down, sliding her phone away. “Great – thanks.” Her cocktail glass was empty: straight away she reached for her double rum and took a sip, smacking her lips. “Ahhh... Sunshine in a glass.”

Zoro took a sip of his own drink. When he set his glass down, Nami was watching him with a challenging look. He frowned slightly. “What?”

“I’m just wondering. Have you drunk enough yet to give you the courage to get your ass up off that seat and venture out on the dance floor?”

Zoro felt his hackles rise. “I don’t need to drink for courage.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“I don’t feel like dancing.”

Nami snorted. “That’s pretty lame. What the hell’s wrong with dancing?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. I’m just not that into it.”

Nami gestured in the direction that Sanji had gone. “You’re into Sanji. And he’s into dancing. So force yourself, why don’t you. You might even enjoy it.”

 

 

Zoro looked at her. “Are you always this pushy?”

“Are you always this surly?” Nami regarded him with an annoying smile. “Lighten up. It’s Saturday night. I’ve warmed him up for you. Go. Enjoy.”

Zoro thought of several responses, none of which seemed likely to quash Nami’s persistence. “I don’t do that salsa shit.”

“How elegantly put. And point of information: no-one gives a flying fuck.” Nami leaned over the table towards him. “Sanji is my friend. I like seeing him happy. Dancing is one of the things which make him happy. You are another thing which makes him happy. Get with the programme, Zoro.”

Being given orders was one of the many things Zoro didn’t respond well to. “The programme being?”

“You two getting hot and sweaty and indecently close to each other on that dance floor.” Nami’s smile took on a predatory quality. “Because the way you’ve been looking at him leaves absolutely no doubt that working up a sweat with Sanji is where your mind is going.”

Zoro gripped his glass. And entirely failed to come up with a response.

Nami rolled her eyes. “Which isn’t exactly a shocker. You’re a guy. Your blood doesn’t run in the direction of your brain. And Sanji is looking totally hot tonight, and I have been doing my best to lure you out on the dance floor by getting him to strut his stuff where you can watch him... But either you are awesomely dense, or you have some obscure medical condition that tragically means you’re unable to dance in public.”

Zoro finally managed to connect his brain to his tongue. “I can dance.”

“So dance, with Sanji. It’ll make his night. And it’ll make yours too. I guarantee it.”

 

 

The only reason Zoro had to disagree would have been pure stubbornness. Not wanting to give Nami the satisfaction of thinking she could pull his strings as easily as she apparently could pull Sanji’s. Zoro levelled his gaze at her, silently trying to send a message for her to get the fuck out of his headspace.

And Nami’s smile widened a notch.

She wasn’t intimidated. She was _enjoying_   this.

 

 

_Fuck._

 

 

Zoro let out a short breath, before pushing his glass of rum away across the table. “Fine, whatever.”

Nami picked up her own glass and gave him a mock salute with it, before taking a sip. “Attaboy.”

 

 

When Sanji returned a couple of minutes later he slid into the seat nearest to Zoro, a hit of cold night air and cigarette smoke coming off him. His knee bumped into Zoro’s as he leaned across and picked up his drink. “Ah, thanks... It’s like coming into a sauna, heading back in here. It must be below zero outside.”

“Who cares, we’re inside.” Nami shrugged.

“Whoever banned smoking areas in nightclubs should wind up on a rotisserie in hell for eternity,” Sanji groused.

“You could always quit.” She gave him a sweet smile.

“Yeah, because me and nicotine withdrawal are such fun to be around.” Sanji gave a dismissive wave of one hand. “Believe me when I say, it will never happen.”

“I do recall certain homicidal tendencies the last time you tried,” Nami allowed. She picked up her glass and drained it, then stood up. “I need a comfort break before my next drink. See you guys in a little while.” Her gaze fell on Zoro, and she gave a small smirk. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

 

 

 _Bet that doesn’t rule out much._ Zoro watched Nami thread her way between the other tables, pausing to exchange greetings and laughter with a couple of men, before she continued on her way and was lost in the nightclub crowd. He let his attention come back to their table... And found Sanji watching him, a half-smile on his face. He met the chef’s gaze. “What?”

“Nothing.” Sanji’s eyebrows lifted for a moment, before he picked up his mojito. “I think she likes you.”

“You figure?” Zoro tried not to let his response sound too sceptical.

Sanji’s smile quirked the corners of his mouth, before he took a drink. “If she _didn’t_  like you, you’d certainly know about it by now.”

“Uh huh.” That Zoro had little doubt about. “She seems like a tough cookie.”

Sanji’s eyes lifted to his, narrowing slightly. “Meaning?”

Zoro shrugged. “I don’t know. Strong, I guess. Determined. Setting up her own business; putting herself through night school, all that. Not everyone’s got the guts and the confidence to make something of themself, the way she has.”

 

 

Sanji relaxed a little. “Yeah.” His eyes still rested on the swordsman’s. “She really is an amazing person. Smart, gorgeous and caring. I feel damn lucky to have her as my best friend.”

Zoro grinned at him then. “Plus she can handle her drink. She’s a perfect woman.”

Rolling his eyes, Sanji snorted. “I should have known _that_ was what would impress you the most.”

“Unlike you, curly brow.” Zoro had noticed a slight flush of colour in the chef’s face. “How many of those mojitos did you sink before I got here?”

“Not everyone feels the need to guzzle alcohol like it’s going out of fashion.” Sanji tapped his finger against his mojito glass. “This is only my fourth. And I’m perfectly able to regulate my own intake, fuck you very much.”

“If you say so. As long as I don’t wind up having to carry you out of a cab into your apartment.”

“Assume, much?” Sanji raised an eyebrow. “Who said anything about you coming back to my place afterwards?”

 

 

Zoro propped his chin on one hand and favoured him with a smirk. “Okay, my place, then. Whatever.”

“Anyone ever tell you, your approach lacks romance?” Sanji gave a half-shake of his head. “Not to mention, subtlety.”

The swordsman regarded him for a moment. Then he straightened up, before leaning across and placing his mouth so close to Sanji’s ear that the chef could feel the warm breath play across it when the other man spoke. “You want romance?” Zoro’s voice was low: a subsonic hum that connected straight to Sanji’s gut. “Flowery compliments? Okay, cook.” His arm was braced on the seat between them: Sanji felt its hard warmth press against his side. “Every time I’ve looked at you this evening, I’ve been thinking about how good it’s going to feel to peel those jeans off you.” Lips brushed against Sanji’s ear and he shivered involuntarily. “Slide them down your legs. And take you into my mouth.” The slightest movement, of Zoro’s lips forming into a smile. “Feel you feeling it.”

 

 

Sanji found his jaw was hanging just a little. He managed to shut it, and took a breath. Swallowed, before turning his head to look Zoro in the eye. “That’s your take on romance?”

Zoro chuckled, before straightening up. “Not what you were hoping for?”

“Motherfucker.” Sanji was glad for the fact that he was sitting down. And wishing all of a sudden that he’d worn a pair of jeans that weren’t so tight.

“Did I ruin the mood?”

“Just don’t say another word.” Sanji picked up his mojito and chugged a large mouthful, letting a melting ice cube slide into his mouth and then sucking on it, concentrating on the frigid feel of it against his tongue. “Nghh.”

“Need a little recovery time?” Zoro sounded smug.

“Crowded public place. Appropriate behaviour.” Sanji gestured randomly at the other people around them. “Either of those things mean anything to you?”

“Nope.”

“Asshole.” Sanji concentrated on the chill of the ice melting against his tongue. “Do that in front of Nami and I will kick your shitty ass across this room.”

Zoro snorted. “She’d get off on it.”

“I fucking mean it.” Sanji glared at him.

“Okay, cook. No talking dirty in front of your BFF, I get it.”

“Craphead.”

 

 

There was a pause. Eventually Sanji spoke again. “So you’ve been watching me this evening, huh?”

“Now and again.” Zoro replied. “Y’know, when there wasn’t anything else to look at.”

It was Sanji’s turn to smirk. “Nice to know.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, curly brow. The way you were flinging Nami about on the dance floor, I just wanted to see if you’d drop her.”

“I’m a good dancer, moron. And so is Nami.” Sanji’s gaze fixed on the swordsman suddenly. “Oh, wait up. How is it you get to talk shit about us dancing, when you haven’t set foot on that dance floor since you got here?”

 

 

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t talk shit. I said you both looked good out there.”

“Yeah, we fucking did. And you and me are gonna look even better.” Sanji stood up, before crooking his forefinger at the other man. “C’mon.”

“Huh?”

“On your feet.” Sanji gave a slight nod towards the dance floor. “All evening you just kept saying ‘Later’ when I asked you to dance. Well, now you’re up.”

Zoro frowned, but stood up slowly. “Whatever.”

Rolling his eyes, Sanji held out his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll break you in gently.”

Zoro took the other man’s hand. Felt the cook’s fingers curl round his own; tighten. Saw the smile grow on Sanji’s face... Before he turned and started off towards the dance floor, towing Zoro behind him with a slight tug on his fingers.

 

 

They made their way through the tables, threading between groups of people. The music was louder than earlier that evening: some kind of live-recorded track throwing out a punchy bass line, beatboxing over the top, with crowd sounds adding to the mix. Lights flickered, hitting the beat and Zoro let himself tune into it, like he had any choice. Like anyone had any choice, because the guy currently on the decks had cranked the volume up high for this one and he could feel it reverberating in his chest.

In front of him Sanji glanced back, just for a second, that quick smile coming once more onto his face. Then he was moving away; but Zoro felt the chef’s hand tug gently again at his own, drawing him forwards. The nightclub crowd thickened near the dance floor and then they were through and into the press of moving bodies, Sanji finding a space that opened out of nowhere, just big enough for them to fit into. And as it turned out, only big enough to fit into if they were close together. Which Zoro had no problems with.

Sanji was already moving, his body synching into the music, picking up the pulse of bass and scratch of decks as the smile grew on his face. He leaned in close to Zoro’s ear just long enough to say over the music, “Ahh, this is a great track!” Zoro got a sudden hit of cigarette smoke and mint, some kind of subtle cologne, and under it and over it and through it all, Sanji. Something that already felt familiar, that connected straight to Zoro’s gut and lit up all the right places. Short-circuited everything except _Want, need, have._

 

 

Sanji drew back, his gaze finding Zoro’s and holding it. His smile growing. Then one hand snaked out, part of the dance, following the rhythm, finding Zoro’s hip and resting there, swaying him into the music. “C’mon... Go with it.”

Zoro shifted under the cook’s touch, falling into the bass beat. His own hand came up as Sanji’s fell away, and just for a moment their fingers caught. Sanji’s grip was warm and strong: then it released him and they were moving to the rhythm.

There was enough light to see and enough darkness to lose the rest of the room. Zoro saw the space in glimpses: the guy on decks, headphones on, cuing up his next track. Dancers with arms raised, sweat gilding their skin; the clash and blur of light and colour and sound and scent. It made him remember other clubs, other places he’d gone, in the bad time. He wasn’t big into the gay club scene but he’d gone anyway, in all those lost months. To drink with strangers and sometimes dance with them and sometimes get fucked up with them. Or just fuck.

 

_\- You dance like a straight guy._

_\- Wanna see if I fuck like one?_

 

 

The music often sucked in those places and he always found it hard to lose himself enough in it, let go enough to really dance. He always found himself craving loud and harsh and raw, something punk or thrash - and then he would have to cut that thought dead because it led straight back to dangerous places. To a past he was trying to outrun or bury or drown. So, what the fuck: drink enough and everything went out of focus for a while. Just enough of himself left to feel his body and someone else’s, pursuing mutual release. Or not mutual, whatever. Doing lines on the top of a toilet tank with some guy who would later that night probably get real annoying but when the buzz came on it didn’t matter. Stalking oblivion and reliably finding it. And just as reliably losing it when he woke up every morning.

 

 

_Fuck, Roronoa. Way to go with bringing down the mood._

 

 

Lights flickered across his eyes, bringing him back. The music was still punching the beat. This wasn’t those places; wasn’t those times. He was here and it was now and he didn’t want to lose himself, he wanted to be right here. Close enough to Sanji that if he lifted his hands just a little he would be touching the chef. And maybe he couldn’t dance fancy fucking salsa but this music was loud and driving and had enough of an edge to catch him. So he let himself go.

 

 

Dancing opposite Zoro, Sanji saw something change in the other man. Resistance give way, something shifting, some alignment. And then they were dancing together. Really together.

_Yes._

The dance floor was crowded and they were almost touching, having to work around the other moving bodies pressing in on all sides. Light pulsing with the music, sliding over uplifted hands, swaying heads. The track fading; segueing into the next with scratch of percussion and keyboard riff, pushing the tempo of the crowd up a notch. And Sanji saw a wash of coloured light swing across the clubbers, back and forth: illuminate Zoro’s face. The other man’s eyes find his.

The music pulled him, the way music always did. Took him with it, lifting up and away to where everything felt good. His body finding and fitting into the rhythm. And just opposite him, Zoro.

The swordsman danced like he fought. With a dark, feral kind of grace. And Sanji wanted to move closer: except that would mean he couldn’t watch him. So he kept his eyes on Zoro, and let himself go a little more. Seeing the way Zoro’s gaze was tracking him as he danced.

_Like what you see?_

 

All around them the dance floor was crowded with people. Yet it felt like only two of them there, close in the mix of darkness and light, music weaving through them. Rocking them like a tide, ebb and flow, undertow pulling them in deeper. Sanji let the pull draw him in, closing the space between them and turning, stepping in backwards and still dancing. So close his shoulders brushed against Zoro’s chest. He felt a hand settle on his hip: fingers curl round, tugging him closer still. Smiling, he turned his head a little, letting his own hand drop down to rest over Zoro’s. Kept moving, riding the rhythm.

 

_\- Oye como va_

_Mi ritmo_

_Bueno pa’ gozar_

 

 

 

When they finally came off the dance floor and found their way back to the table some considerable time later, Nami greeted them with a knowing smile. “Good time out there? You were gone a while.”

Sanji returned her smile. “Oh, yeah.”

Nami switched her gaze onto Zoro. “Worked up a good sweat, huh?”

“Uh huh.” Zoro grunted, reaching for what remained of his drink. But the corners of his mouth also turned up in response.

Sanji glanced at Nami’s glass, which stood empty on the table. “Another drink, my sweet?”

“Mmmh, just one more. Then I think I better call it a night. I can feel my beauty sleep calling me.” She stretched both arms, letting out a sigh. “It’s been a great night. We ought to do this more often.”

Sanji stood up, then placed a hand on Zoro’s shoulder. “You want another rum?”

The swordsman looked up at him. “Yeah.” His eyes held Sanji’s: on an impulse, the chef leaned down and kissed him. Taking his time about it.

When he drew back, Zoro had a sly smile on his face. “You need a hand getting the drinks?”

“I can manage, moss-head.” Sanji turned and headed away to the bar.

 

 

By the time they’d had their drinks and talked and watched clubbers dancing to the DJ’s final set, it was going on for two in the morning. They beat the exit rush by leaving before the club closed, but even so it took ten minutes of walking along the cold night street before they were able to flag a cab. Some amiable bickering between Sanji and Nami about who was going to be dropped off at home first was eventually settled, with the result that it was Nami who alighted outside her apartment while the two men stayed in the cab.

Nami leaned in the open cab window, holding a couple of bills between two fingers. “Here, my share.”

“Put your money away.” Sanji sounded offended. “We got it.”

“As someone who’s about to go into business, you need to work on your economic skills.”

“Duly noted.” Sanji kissed her on the cheek. “Great night out, _chérie_. I’ll call you in the week. Sweet dreams.”

“You too.” Nami returned his kiss, before looking further into the cab. “Nice meeting you, Zoro. See you again.” And with a final smile at Sanji, she turned away and headed up the steps to her apartment block entrance.

 

 

The cab pulled away from the kerb and Sanji settled back into the seat with a sigh. “Mhhhh. I... am... beat.”

Zoro felt the chef’s shoulder rest lightly against his own. “That a hint I should tell the cab driver just to drop me off at my place?”

Sanji let out a quiet laugh. “No. Not unless that’s what you want.”

“What do you think?”

“I think...” Sanji’s hand slid over the seat, finding Zoro’s, and their fingers threaded together. “...That would be a wasted opportunity.”

 

 

The cab drove on and the lights of the city broke up the night. The music from the club was left behind and yet it still played, memory matching it to the rhythm in the pulse Zoro could feel where his fingertips rested on the warm skin of Sanji’s wrist.

 

 

Rhythm speeding up in Sanji’s darkened apartment, both of them in too much of a hurry to bother putting on the light, tugging at each other’s clothes in a half-dance of unsteady steps to the bedroom. The same pulse beating under Zoro’s tongue as he ran it down Sanji’s neck, pressed his mouth to warm skin. Hands reaching, holding on. Bodies coming together. A different kind of dance.

 

 

_Here and now._

 

 

_Want._

_Need._

_Have._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, apologies for leaving it so GD long before posting this final chapter. My excuses are: workload (working 50+ hours every week for the last two months), the country I live in having an apparent meltdown (I mean, Brexit: WTF???!!), and general world insanity. Early June I was at a Pride festival having a groovy time with a ton of lovely LGBT folks. Two weeks later I was wearing my rainbow wristband for a different and darker reason: singing with an LGBT choir at a vigil for the 49 people murdered in the Pulse nightclub shootings. You couldn't make this crap up.
> 
> So. Thank the universe for the diversion of fanfiction. (And more importantly, thank Eiichiro Oda for the bonkers awesomeness that is One Piece, without which I wouldn't have these characters to play with.) If the world is going to hell in a handbasket, I will rewrite it the way I'd like it to be. (Which is not to say all the angst currently doing the rounds won't make itself felt in future chapters of this fic series.)
> 
> Ah, I digress. I hope you're still reading, and still enjoying. Thanks to all of you who have read, left kudos, and posted comments: it really does make a difference. As in, it makes me want to keep on writing when it's hard to.
> 
> Notes on this chapter:
> 
> Sanji and Nami's cocktails (mojitos and zombies) are rum-based. You wanna try them for yourself, there are recipes on the internet. Doorly X.O. is a very good rum (much too good to mix into cocktails). I personally could drink rum every day. But I don't, of course. Not least because of the whole having to get up and work the aforementioned 50-hour weeks.
> 
> chérie = sweetheart  
> santé = cheers, good health  
> ¡VIVA LA REVOLUCION! = Long live the revolution!
> 
> If you wanted a soundtrack for Nami and Sanji dancing together, it would include:  
> Represent Cuba, Orishas (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=50kxtUSGMgg)  
> Bossa Per Due, Nicola Conte (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHPFXEooQOc)  
> Sly, The Cat Empire (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtFxo4mpiKg)  
> Cantaloop / Flip Fantasia, Us 3 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwBjhBL9G6U)
> 
> The track that finally gets Zoro onto the dance floor with Sanji is the live version of Les Rues de St Paul, Le Peuple de l'Herbe (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5LObRUlAMw)
> 
> ...And they stay there with the awesome remix of Santana's Oye Como Va, by Professor Angel Dust and the PH Force with Mucho Muchacho. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eidJPvl9J0g)
> 
> Oye como va / Mi ritmo / Bueno pa’ gozar = Hey, listen up to how it goes / My rhythm / Good for havin' fun
> 
> Professor Angel Dust (Angel Francisco López) aka Professor Angel Sound was a leading figure in the electronic music scene of Barcelona, DJ-ing and throwing parties until 2008. Returning from a dj gig in Panama, López was forced to act as a drug mule (drug runners held his wife and daughter at gunpoint). He was busted at Tocumen airport and served a 6-year sentence in a Panamanian prison. Unstoppable, the Prof built an improvised music studio in his jail cell and taught fellow inmates how to lay down their own tracks. RESPECT.


End file.
